A Magical Effect
by The Cursed and Torn
Summary: Facing death, a child makes a rash decision that alters his life and future, leading him to take part in an event 50,000 years in the making. And it all starts with a mirror and a blood red stone. A Mass Effect/Harry Potter Crossover. The Very First!
1. Prologue

Summary: Staring death in the face, a young boy makes a rash decision that alters his life and future, leading him to take part in an event 50,000 years in the making. And it all starts with a mirror and a blood red stone. A Mass Effect/Harry Potter Crossover. The very first!

**Disclaimer: I own neither Harry Potter nor Mass Effect. They are own respectively by J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. and BioWare and EA Games. I'm just borrowing them to create an epic piece of fiction. (Insert Maniacal Laughter)**

**/-/Author Note/-/**

**CursedAndTorn here and welcome back to A Magical Effect! I know it's been a long time since I updated, but I am happy by all the reviews and helpful advice everyone has given me. So as a treat of sorts, not only have I updated by story, but I have also redone the prologue. I've added a few pieces of information that I neglected to cover that a few readers were generous enough to bring up, and clarified a few points that I somewhat glossed over. Aside from that, I have also posted few new works, one another Mass Effect/Harry Potter crossover. It would be in the rated M section. Remember to kickback, read, and review.**

* * *

Prologue

* * *

It was hard to believe that he had lived this long, this far. It was the year 2183, and he was still kicking. At his physical prime, a mere twenty-eight years of age, he marveled at the technological boundaries and leaps humanity has crossed in less than two hundred years. During his time and youth, the ability to space travel was a relatively new concept, and things such as aliens, light speed, or any other such nonsense was merely the work of fiction. Good fiction in some cases, (Merlin be praised for George Lucas), and others not so much.

Hell, upon his introduction to the magical aspect of the world, such thoughts as planet traveling was simply scoffed at by the Pureblood community, and most muggleborn children who attended Hogwarts neglected such achievements as unimportant in comparison to the near unfathomably energies that was magic.

Ignorant fools.

He was ashamed to have to admit he was just like them at the time.

Now, two hundred years later, he had learned the errors of such naivety. Now, in a world of space travel, galactic conflicts, advanced weaponry, and alien species, Harry James Potter, Boy-Who-Lived, the Chosen One learned the errors of his previous misconceptions.

He smiled slightly as he imagined the looks on those unfortunate enough to learn his dark little secret. Immortality, something that at one point was so preciously sought after by many men and women, now a fleeting thought or association to the Asari or Krogen.

He snorted at the comparison. True, both species had spectacular longevity, but for the war mongrels that were the Krogan, it more or less was a mute point as the majority of them died off fairly young in the ongoing Clan Wars present on their home world Tuchanka or their mercenary work in the Blood Pack. As for the Asari, it was more or like a human life span in terms of maturity, just takes them a few centuries longer to, as he so eloquently told one such Asari, "Grow up."

Bitch tried to tear him a new one with a Singularity before he blasted her head off with his 22c Katana. God he hated Eclipse, more so the Eclipse Sisters, particularly Wasea on Illium then that bastard Jaroth on Omega.

…

On second thought, he hated both equally and would make it a point to kill them at some point down the line. For the moment they were useful contacts and nice leverage in the unlikely event he'd ever get caught with his pants down as the saying goes.

More to the point, how he had gained the power of being labeled 'immortal' was a very large and complicated tale, that took place somewhere close to one hundred and ninety-one years, give or take a few weeks.

June 19th, 1992 was the day that changed his life forever. He had made it passed the black fire that lead to the inner chamber that held the Mirror of Erised. Granger had run off to retrieve Weasely and to hopefully contact a Professor and warn them about the breach in the defenses that protected the Stone. He snorted into his drink, rylton he vaguely recalled, as he associated the words defenses with the pendulant traps that the Headmaster designed as the 'ultimate protection.'

He preferred the use of an M-4 Shuriken or his trusty M-3 Predator for 'protection' any day in any century.

He recalled facing against Thomas Marvolo Riddle, nothing but a bodiless husk, leaching off the energy of those significantly weak willed then himself. His latest victim being Hogwart's Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor, Professor Quirrell. He had recovered the fabled Sorcerer's Stone that by historical documentation provided the Elixir of Life and could turn any metal into solid pure gold.

Though on a separate note, facing the murderer of his parent's didn't fill Harry at the time with false bravado or a drive to slay the man.

To be perfectly honest, he nearly pissed his pants in fear when he realized he wasn't dealing with a Potions Master with a bad temperament and having the ability to hold a grudge like it was nobody's business. He shuddered at the time as he recalled the imminent fear that filled him at the sight of the deformed face of what was once a handsome young man and Head boy some fifty years before.

Part of him actually considered taking the possessed man's offer to relinquish the stone and as he so eloquently put it, live.

Of course, thoughts of what his parents would do, and by extension, what the great Albus Dumbledore would do gave him the courage to stand his ground.

A stupid mistake, one in which if Harry was given the option to repeat, would do so again, except perhaps with less embarrassment and a more confident demeanor.

As it were, he merely shouted "NEVER!" and was thrown harshly onto the stone steps, a hand wrapped tightly around his throat. The stone, which had been in his hand, rolled away from him, and in a desperate act of fear and self preservation, ignored his constricting windpipe and reached for the stone.

He shuddered to think of what would have happened to him if he hadn't reached for the stone and instead attempted to remove the former Defense Professor's hand from his throat.

The possibly scenarios were not…pleasant to say the least.

Fortunately, he didn't have to worry about that. Instead, he had reached the stone, touching it barely with his finger tips before his magic reacted with it. The results were…both damaging and explosive, to both himself and Lord Voldemort.

His possessed servant's body damaged beyond repair and dying, the spirit fled, leaving a ruined underground chamber in flames, a shattered stone, and unconscious eleven year old boy who had gained the one thing that Voldemort always wanted.

Immortality.

Actually, he thought with a dry chuckle as he adjusted the scope of his M-92 Mantis, his drink put to the side, he wasn't immortal. What he got was eternal youth. He could die just like any other, being, human or otherwise.

Of course, that was until his second year at Hogwarts anyway. Having Basilisk venom, one of the most potent poisons in the world running through your veins, adding the magical properties of Phoenix Tears, and Harry had a natural immunity to almost any poison and the ability to heal himself from various wounds. He could still die, and do so painfully if his would be killer was creative enough, but against most magical curses and inflected wounds at the time, he could easily shake off and continue on as if he hadn't suffered in the least.

Of course that still didn't stop a few people from trying at least.

He had awakened two days later in the Hospital Wing, and for all intents and purposes, felt like shit. He could barely move, let alone talk, but remembering the events in the underground chamber and seeing Dumbledore sitting beside him, Harry had pushed through the pain and asked what had happened.

Dumbledore had given him the short an uninformed version. Harry fought a possessed Professor Qurriell, and killed him through a burst of magic. His mother's protection he had said. He had arrived in time to witness the event before destroying the stone and taking Harry to the Hospital Wing.

He didn't find out until years later that the old man had lied to him. But, being young and naïve, he believed the Headmaster and asked the million pound question.

Why did Voldemort target him? Why was he after him? Why did he try to kill both his parents and himself that night on Halloween?

He wasn't given an answer aside from the, "You are too young to know so just forget about it" rubbish.

It annoyed him then, and still did now.

Regardless, he went back to his hateful relatives come the 25th of June of that year and spent the entire time locked in his cousin's old room.

The funny thing now that he thought about it…he couldn't actually remember what his relatives looked like now. He could barely recall their names either. Dursley, wasn't it?

It wasn't until his fourth year did Harry truly discover his potential and what happened that night in front of the Mirror of Erised.

But he was getting rather ahead of himself, wasn't he?

Second year was more or less the same shit he had started to come to expect whenever magic and he himself were involved. A deranged house elf, Dobby, stole all his letters and had a letter of underage magic being sent to him, taking away his only defense against his magic hating relatives, which lead him to a miserable two weeks alone in his room, bars placed on his window and his faithful companion Hedwig locked in her cage.

A slight throb ran through his two century old heart at the thought of his oldest and first friend aside from the Hogwarts Groundskeeper. He missed that bird more than he was willing to admit, but then again, who wouldn't? She was beautiful, as white and pure as snow, with an intelligence and diligence that seemed almost human. It was agonizing watching her die, flying in front of the dagger aimed for him by Bellatrix LeStrange.

Her screams when he caught her were brutal as he made her feel every bit of rage and sadness that he stilled carried today when she died.

Granted, he ended up regaining his familiar through means that would leave most Light Wizards and Witches, Dumbledore for the most part, appalled at his carelessness, but at the time, it was more or less a fair deal. Besides, the witch he sacrificed in question agreed to it readily, and the ritual had a more…lasting impression then originally believed.

Again, another story for another time.

Shaking his thoughts from such a depressing and personal matter, he refocused his attention back on his target, watching as he droned on about his political agenda and how he was so grateful for this opportunity and other such nonsense.

Didn't really matter, he was going to be dead in a few minutes anyway. Turians were bastards after all, especially the racist ones, but damn if they didn't have such a nice signing bonus!

Following his rescue or lack thereof from the Weasely children, he arrived at their humble abode, humble being the key word, and was properly introduced to the Weasely Matriarch Molly Weasely. He came to care for the woman through her constant smothering and wondered briefly at the time if the way she treated him was a way a mother would treat a son. He snorted now as he thought about it. A mother, nurturing and kind, knew instinctively when to back off and knew when to approach their child. They shared a special bond that could be held for a great many years, even beyond the child in question own childhood and into their adult years. What Molly Weasely had was an overbearing attitude and control complex where she had to know every little tidbit of information about her children's lives and dictate what they could and couldn't do.

After a 'glorious' summer, (note the sarcasm), he arrived back at Hogwarts to be whispered and mocked for being the Heir of Slytherin, have a raging house elf, (Dobby once again) try and crack his skull open with a rampant bludger, and a giant forty to sixty foot Basilisk try to swallow him whole.

Fun times, no?

Let's not forget to mention the incompetent Defense Professor he had that year as well, or the fact he almost got eaten by a swarm of giant flesh eating spiders, or that he had to face Voldemort a second time in less than a year. To round it all off, he now had the affections of a young eleven year old girl with a severe case of hero-worship.

Oh, and he was poisoned by the aforementioned forty to sixty foot snake. He mentioned that already didn't he?

Following that relatively disastrous year, he had hoped for a clear summer with little to no trouble. A promise to be able to communicate with his friends in exchange for no more daring rescue attempts or flying cars had at the time sealed the deal.

And then Marge showed up.

While he couldn't remember his relatives all that clearly, that _bitch's_ face was printed quite clearly in his mind, if only to visualize the look of terror on her face as he snuffed the life out of her repeatedly in his sleep. Harry had only hated a few people in his life where he wanted to not only see them dead, but be the one to do the job. His Aunt Marge was one of them. It was something he had known since he was nine years old, though at the time he had wished nothing but bad to happen to the woman.

With magic at his disposal, he could only imagine the things he would do to that woman in vengeance for the years of torment that she put him through with her monstrous dog.

It goes without saying that summer didn't end very well for all parties involved. It was around that time that he started to realize something…off about himself. While he knew his injuries healed themselves, (a broken arm as a child and having it repaired and back to normal in less than eight hours will convince you) they almost closed up instantly. A cut on his finger, scrap on his arm, and within seconds the blood coagulated before the wound sealed itself up, almost as if it hadn't been there in the first place.

He pondered it before disregarding it as another magic thing. He cursed himself today for taking up Weasely's lazy attitude, wishing more and more that he had been more like Granger. At the very least he would have dubbed his odd ability interesting and read about it the following year.

A screaming match followed by a completely intentional curse (though if asked he would deny it and say it was accidental), he had stormed out of the Dursley household, more than ready to go out and make the world his dwelling.

Merlin he was such a brat at that age. Though he had to admit, that had to have been his best childhood summer as far as he could recollect. Childhood being the keyword especially once he turned eighteen and became a legal adult in the muggle world, as well as an eligible bachelor. The women, especially the French European! Summer of 1999. Best. Summer. Ever.

Ridding himself of the stupid self-satisfied grin on his face, he pulled his Mantis-92 from the back of his custom made Medium Colossus Armor X, inserting the recently adapted thermal clips, courtesy of the Geth that invaded the Citadel a few months prior. If anything of relative importance or significance came about from the Geth invasion, it was the fact that guns had been adapted to take in thermal clips instead of overheating, an improvement Harry was only to happy to work with.

Following that summer was a sequence of what he could only describe as the worst years of his life. Hormones, crushes, psychotic killers and pseudo parental guardians, it was a wonder he didn't lose himself after the first initial month.

And Dementors. He hated Dementors.

The year itself was uneventful otherwise. Met his slightly insane godfather, unjustly imprisoned for a crime he didn't commit. Found out the real traitor of his parents was sleeping in the same dormitory as him for the past three years, and that his best friend had been going to classes all year through use of a Time-Turner, an hourglass encased by a gold plate with a gold chain that could adjust its size accordingly through use of a expansion charm.

Like he said before, nothing unusual in his day to day life.

Fourth year however, brought luscious Veela, quarter Veela, bushy haired bookworm friend turned to hot bushy haired bookworm friend, Quidditch, arrogant prats for friends, a crazed reporter who Harry would later feed to a frog…

No lie and he didn't even feed her in her Animagus form. He just used an enlargement charm on the frog itself and left her tied up dressed like a beetle.

Bitch didn't even get to scream. Or at least he thought so. He gagged her mouth so he couldn't tell.

More to the point, this was when he truly discovered the potential that his scuffle back in his second year truly came in handy. When he had been called upon, as a Fourth Champion, he had been mildly upset, tantrum and all, before he resigned himself to his fate. He seriously wondered if he ever did have a backbone but dismissed the thought. He'd rather have a set of steel any day.

Though that pair of steel would have been incredibly useful during the first task of that damn tournament now that he thought about it.

After he had his ass handed to him by the dragon, (because let's face it, no amount of fancy flying can out do a two thousand pound fire breathing lizard) Harry discovered his wounds, particularly the bleeding gash on his shoulder where the dragon was able to nick him, were already coagulating, when he landed on the ground.

After the task was over and he made up with Ron, Harry had done a bit of experimentation with his newfound ability. Self-mutilation worked well, and he even kept a logbook on the day he injured himself, the time, and amount of time it took to heal. It worked until Hermione started questioning why he always had his cutting knife on hand, and he reluctantly stopped his experiment. It wasn't like he was a got some sick pleasure from doing it, but it was the only way for him to actually get some concrete data on his healing abilities. He was sure if he explained it in that context Hermione would surely understand.

Didn't mean he was stupid enough to try though.

The Yule Ball came and went, and Harry would later regret ever attempting to find Ron a date as he spent the majority of the evening glaring at one Hermione Granger for being insanely beautiful and catching the eye of one Victor Krum. Mind filled with the possibilities of his self healing ability, Harry ignored him for the most point, which in turn caused him to ignore his date for the evening, Pavarti Patil. The eventual blowout was…unpleasant, though he did make it up to her a few weeks later alongside her sister when his mind finally caught up to him.

That day in Hogsmeade was probably the only highlight he had that entire year.

Following that was what could be considered laziness by some and sheer stupidity by others.

He never solved the clue in the egg. Sure, Cedric Diggory, coming Head boy and heartthrob of the entire female population in school, as well as thick as brick wall in mental prowess, may have told him in passing in return for the tip about the dragon, (completely fair you know. He tells him of a raging fire breathing beast and in return gets a simple "you might want to take a bath when solving the egg". Among being insanely clever, it made Harry question his sexual preference, but he digressed) but he never actually attempted to solve the damn thing himself.

He had a damn adversity to the thing after it wailed at him as soon as he opened it during the celebration party in Gryffindor Tower, and upon the discovery of his healing abilities, he flat out ignored it, even with Hermione's constant nagging. A feat that he patted himself on the back for.

The second task came and went, and he was given extra points for being stupid apparently, but facing life threatening situations since you were a year old tends to make anyone paranoid. Constant Vigilance and all that rut.

On the plus side, Fleur had smothered him with kisses for saving her sister, as did Hermione out of sheer exhilaration, though the freezing cold didn't allow him to enjoy it as much as wanted. He also took pride in that both girls respectively blew off Victor and Ron, both whom had been trying to get, subtly in their minds, both girls' attention.

Months went by and the Third Task had arrived, and Harry, wanting to please the masses and thinking with nobility rather than with his brain, shared the victory with Cedric. In all honesty, the whole reason he participated at all during the Tournament and tried to win it was to impress the aforementioned Hufflepuff's girlfriend and Harry's crush since his third year, Cho Chang.

He shook his head in exasperation at the thought of impressing that shallow child. The girl had control issues as well as problems with letting go. The whole reason she even went out with him fifth year was to try and get closer to Cedric and hold onto him. She had no regards to how he felt about the incident in the graveyard, and went on ranting tangents about what she and Cedric used to do or how she didn't like how he and Hermione were so close. If she wanted to be so close to Cedric, and if had the actual guts to do so, he would have sent a Killing Curse in her direction and be done with it.

Man he was stupid as a teenager.

Regardless, that fight in the graveyard didn't play out as he had told it. He may have been gone for somewhere between fifteen to twenty minutes, but in that small time slot, he was tortured and cursed to hell and back.

He was lucky enough during his pseudo duel with Voldemort to even fling out that one Disarming spell before their wands locked; otherwise he would have been killed. He saw his parents, a rather tearful reunion before Cedric and others arrived, allowing him to escape. It was only on sheer chance that he had stumbled over Cedric's body on the way to the cup, and was forced to summon it towards him as several killing curses flew over head.

His thoughts were broken from an all too familiar voice, bossiness included.

"I really don't approve of this Harry."

Rolling his eyes and keeping his sight trained on his target, his voice drowning out all sound from the area, he muttered, "Yeah, what else is new?"

The female's voice 'hmphed' in reply, but still kept her eyes on him, watching him line up his shot once more.

Standing behind him was a virtual holographic representation of a young girl, no older then seventeen, with a bushy mane of curls dressed in a schoolgirl uniform and flowing robes. Her entire form was transparent, orange in color, a symbolization of being a VI.

A VI of a long since dead Hermione Granger.

Call him introspective, but he realized a longtime ago the reason he survived most of his wayward adventures was because of this one woman, who proved herself time and time again to be one of the few constants in his life. Cliché, he knew, but very true nonetheless.

He had paid a lot of money to have her constructed, and due to the pensive that he had stolen from Dumbledore's office following his death, (the bastard owed him more then a shiny gold ball) had stored various memories of his time at Hogwarts.

Using that, he was able to recreate her almost exactly as she was, and with quite a bit of freedom in her programming, more so then normal VI's. Typically, they would only work within the confines of their programming, most used for tour guides on such locations as the Citadel while others were used on for search inquires on the extranet or used to file military reports in the case of the Alliance.

Hermione was a lot more sophisticated then that.

For all intents and purposes, she was a lot closer to an AI then a VI in programming, and only clever ingenuity and superior tech skills in mentioned programming was she still considered a VI. She had enough freedom and thinking process to formulate her own ideas and opinions, could make inquires and question his current work or motives, but it all was linked to the very baseline of her programming.

To help and ensure his survival, no matter the cost. Similar to what the real Hermione Granger had done since the moment they had meet on that bright red locomotive close to two hundred years ago. Minus the whole spiel on homework, O.W.L's and proper respect for authority of course. That he could have done without.

There were some obvious upgrades however. She was linked directly to his Omni-Tool and had various copies of her implanted in various systems ranging from the Alliance, to the Citadel, all the way down to Special Task Groups. She was built into a portable VI interface, and could shut herself down at will. She could process information at a much faster rate than most computer systems, a little something he picked up from a derelict Geth Dropship following their attack on the Citadel. There were a few more, but he couldn't recall them at the present moment, distracted as he was.

"I strongly request that you reconsider this Harry. Have you even thought this through?"

He snorted, his rifle leveled as he continued to gaze at his target, unmoving as he zoomed in his scope, bringing his next kill in closer to his line of sight.

"Hermione, do I ever jump into the fray with a halfcocked plan of action? Without any regard to the impacts that my decision may have on the galactic community as a whole?"

Her answer was quick, decisive, and dry of all emotion, indicating the truth of her next statement.

"Yes."

"Then you should already know the answer to that question."

She gave an irritated huff in response, and deactivated her physical representation and began hacking into the various security cameras located in the surrounding area, feeding false images. Whether she agreed with him or not, she would make this job as easy as possible for him. No physical evidence or recordings of the event would make it harder for C-Sec to solve the case, and rid all possible links to Harry.

Ignoring her agitated response, Harry reminisced further, recalling the events following his abrupt return from the graveyard.

For starters, he was a wreck. Finding himself back in the Quidditch Pitch at Hogwarts and recalling and feeling the effects of the last twenty to thirty minutes, his resolve broke and he started to cry. Facing death in the face, watching a fellow student killed in cold blood, and witnessing the return of your parents, so close, but unable to truly touch them, a cruel mockery of what he wanted but couldn't have, it was a miracle that he hadn't cracked during the events themselves.

He was lead away and learned that Alastor Moody, the real one anyway, was locked in a trunk for the majority of the school year and that an escaped Death Eater had been teaching him all year, needling him and leading him to the events that had passed this fortnight.

Understandably, he was scared out of his mind, and that made way to being pissed beyond reason. If Dumbledore hadn't blasted his way in at the time, Harry was sure he would have attacked the man with his bare hands.

The following two weeks was spent mourning the loss of Cedric, something that Harry felt guilty enough over, (which was irrational. He told the idiot to run but he stood there trying to put on brave front. He either had a brain lapse or thought he was a Gryffindor or being a Tri-Wizard Champion had gotten to his head) and he was being murmured about left and right. People assumed he had killed Cedric for the Cup and that Voldemort truly hadn't returned, and others thought that it was some freak accident and that Harry had simply made up Voldemort's return as a means of explanation.

The following summer wasn't much better, and probably the worst he ever had. Lies, secrets, wavering trust, it was a ground shaking year and Harry felt himself a better person for handling it as he did. Granted he would have handled it better now, like much of his life if given the chance to redo it, but still…

If there were only one highlight that came out of that year, it would have been meeting and befriending Luna Lovegood. The girl if nothing else, she never failed to break Harry out of his foreboding thoughts. The world grew that much darker after Luna died at the age of forty-five, leaving behind two seventh year students and a despondent husband. And even though her death was something she had done willingly, even somewhat happily, it gave him no reprieve from the guilt he still felt today, despite her rather still insistent reminders that she had willing chose her fate, and would gladly do it so again.

Still, he had honestly, he felt she could have done better in terms of a husband and life, and he will admit to toying with the idea of asking her out during his sixth year. Hermione wasn't an option with her fascination and near obsession with Ron, a leering fact that still made him want to go to the nearest toilet whenever it crossed his mind, and he only ever went out with Ginny because the girl showed some genuine interest in him, not just awe inspired fascination.

It was also the year he discovered the prophecy, a spiel spoken by a woman who spent most of her time drowned in sherry or red wine then anything else. How anyone could take what she said seriously was beyond him, but evidently it didn't matter in the end.

By sheer chance, he had a destiny forced upon his shoulders that he did not want. A life of abuse, neglect, and loneliness was he calling because an old man shy of ninety decided to take what the woman said at face value.

A lot of bridges burned that night in Dumbledore's office, and even though he had years to think on it, he never truly did forgive his old mentor.

He was getting ahead of himself.

After Hermione's brilliant idea to hold after class defense meetings under Umbridge's nose, or lack there of, (she really did look like a toad after all) Harry had been suffering from painful detentions from the bitch.

He was ever so thankful for the opportunity to get one over the woman and though he needed some convincing to actually be the one to teach, he had assumed Hermione would have taken the position, the DA was formed.

Dumbledore's Army. He should have made it the Defense Association or Devil's Advocate or something just as catchy that didn't look like damn hero worship.

The illegal gathering of students due to Education Degree number two hundred and something or other, he never really cared one way or another, went well until Marietta Edgecombe, Cho's right hand bitch, spilled the beans.

He felt vindictive and proud of Hermione's spell work as the words SNEAK were forever printed on the girl's face. And when he said forever, he meant it. The girl's mother had spent thousands of gallons to have it removed at St. Mungos, but all they could do was get the words faded to the point were a heavy use of makeup or powerful glamour charm could hid the disfigurement.

He was delighted to say that the girl never found a man who had the stomach to marry her.

Didn't stop her from having kids though.

He and Cho got into a…disagreement over the girl's treatment and the shallow woman more or less demanded that Hermione give a counter spell to remove the jinx.

Harry refused to be the medium between them and told the stupid girl, both actually, that he wouldn't do so, that Marietta deserved what she got, and that she's lucky that all Hermione decided to do to her.

The ensuing fight was less glorious and spectacular then many of the school's populace was lead to believe, as Harry had simply stunned both girls as they raised their wands at him.

It was during that year he was plagued by nightmares, visions from Voldemort, which ultimately lead him to the Department of Mysteries where his godfather had fought and died by the hands of Bellatrix LeStrange.

Again he would gain his revenge, for both Hedwig and Sirius two years later.

The end of that horrible event lead the Ministry to announce Voldemort's rather late return, Fudge getting sacked, Umbridge mysteriously vanishing in the Forbidden Forest after Harry and Hermione led her to Grawp, Hagrid's half-brother, (body was never found) and Harry being hailed as the Chosen One. A leak courtesy of Dumbledore in his infinite wisdom.

His summer was spent mourning over a man he truly didn't know, with the lives of thousands, hundreds of thousands, possibly millions placed on his shoulders.

Fun right?

He had gone to the Burrow that summer, and met Fleur once more. She was engaged to Bill and Harry tried his best to be happy for her, but couldn't truly manage it. He wasn't even certain if he'd live long enough to see the wedding, and seeing such a beautiful woman close to marriage kind of made Harry realize how pathetic his love life was. Probably way he went nuts as soon as Voldemort was dead and become somewhat of a womanizer.

That following year was spent arguing with Hermione over a dumb book, butting heads with Snape, (both for being the new DA instructor and for the horrible Occulmancy lessons the previous year), and spending senseless hours with Dumbledore looking up a past of a boy who was no longer human. Time and resources that could have been better spent tracking down the Horcruxes that the self-proclaimed Dark Lord created and ending their struggle more then a year early.

Then again, he was only a child, so what did a child know?

What else happened that year was fairly obvious and could be looked up in any number of biographies written by his old classmates and friends.

Long story short, Dumbedore died, the Death Eater's invaded the castle, and Harry had a face to face confrontation with Snape. A humiliating loss, but he got back at the bastard. Especially when he learned who overheard the prophecy and reported it to Voldemort.

When he had found out the truth, that Snape had sold his family out to Voldemort when he had overheard the prophecy, and that Dumbledore knew, and allowed the man to patronize him ever coming year, he lost what little self-control he had left.

He vowed to kill him, one way or another.

His last summer at the Dursley's was quiet, his uncle and aunt moving away as soon as he had informed them of the danger, his fat cousin following only after a halfhearted attempt on redemption on his part. To ease a guilty conscious over what he assumed to be a dead family member.

The details on his rescue/escape involved polyjuice potion and broomsticks, and after releasing Hedwig from her cage, which he was thankful for as it had been struck by a wayward curse, Harry and his longtime friends and companions went forward on the journey left behind by Dumbledore.

Details weren't needed to describe how unspectacular the trip was, nor the betrayals, (again) or abandonment by Ron Weasely. When something broke between them, Harry meant their entire friendship. He tolerated his presence only for Herminoe's sake; otherwise he would've either killed him or cut him from his life. Evidently he did both options some fifty years later, but regardless.

He had found the Horcruxes, destroyed them, and returned to Hogwarts, where it all started and where it would all end.

He had followed Voldemort to the Shrieking Shack, watched as he cursed Snape for the Elder Wand and left him to die before returning to the surface to claim his victory.

When he discovered Severus Snape dying on the floor of the Shrieking Shack, pulling out years of memories and placing them in the vial hidden in his robes and handing it to him, Harry brandished Bellatrix's wand, shattering the vial before casting the Cruciatus Curse, making the man's last few moments of life hell.

He didn't care for his reasons, no matter what they were. None of it would have been good enough in his eyes.

After causing his much-hated Professor go cationic in pain before his ultimate death, he went back out into the grounds, making his way towards the surrounding forest as his mortal enemy broadcasted a deal if you will. Harry goes into the forest and become a martyr, which in reality would do nothing as Voldemort would still attack the students, and have a body to gloat over.

It was less of a battle and more of a slaughter as Harry killed every Death Eater he came across while in the forest. He even freed Hagrid, who went and crushed at least a few dozen of Voldemort's followers before a bright green bolt of light struck him in the face.

Harry in retaliation, shot a Confirgo at the half-giant's killer, and blew Lucius Malfoy's face clear off.

When he had faced Voldemort, face to face, the duel was less then fantastic and more along the lines of cheap shots thrown at each other.

Harry had gotten lucky as the wand Voldemort was using, the Elder Wand, was technically his, both by right of conquest, (disarming Draco Malfoy, true wielder of the Elder Wand) and by blood didn't work on him, and all curses and hexes sent his way missing or doing little damage, adding his healing ability.

One well placed Reducto and Voldemort was a headless corpse on the ground and the war waging for thirty plus years was finally over.

After his rather glorious and stunning defeat of the Dark Lord (according to the Daily Prophet), Harry had receded into the muggle world. He associated the wizardry world with nothing but lies and deceit, and he wasn't that far off from the truth. If the Lightest of all Wizards could easily lie to him for years towards something that could have potentially saved thousands of lives from this war, one in which neither he nor his generation had any part in, had to not only fight in it but finish it, then what hope did he have that any other witch or wizard in the country, the world perhaps, wouldn't do so as well?

He went back to the muggle world, hiring the best tutors money could buy and had himself reeducated. It was hard seeing as he allowed his education to lessen drastically upon his introduction to magic, but he had the time to waste.

He had moved all his money and had it transferred to muggle currency, something the Goblins were loath to do, but upon Harry's reminder of Griphook's betrayal (which he killed him for) and his defeat of Voldemort, they quickly agreed. That isn't to say they tried to take half of what he owned through fees and other such nonsense, and it isn't to say that he didn't kill a few dozen to make his point perfectly clear, but hey, he got his money, so what's a few dead ugly midgets?

Once properly situated into the muggle world, and making sure to keep a majority of his fortunate untouched (wasn't going to put all his money into stocks after all. Needed something to fall back on incase everything went to shit), Harry spent the next fifteen years or so traveling, visiting exotic cities, exploring exotic women, (God bless the women) and basically just enjoying life for once. It was around this time that he discovered that while he supposed to be age thirty-two, he looked not a day older over twenty.

He quickly realized something wasn't right, and did a little dabbling into ancient tomes in hopes of finding an answer. There was no way he was going to Granger as at the time, she was married to Ron, a stupid decision on her part, before taking a more direct approach and going to the foremost expert persons on the subject of longevity.

Mr. and Mrs. Flamel.

Against what he was led to believe by Dumbledore, both Flamels were still alive, and would remain so for another sixty years or so. What Harry had assumed would be a few months; maybe even years of life before they eventually passed on were a few decades to them. When you live as long as they have, time somewhat becomes blurred.

Regardless, after introducing himself and explaining his situation, a study was commenced on his body. Nothing invasive, depending on your definition of the word, but they had discovered that his magic, which ran through the blood of every magical being on the planet, was laced heavily with the magical properties of Flamels' Sorcerer Stone.

It also goes without saying that Nicholas, realizing he had another stone, or rather the blood to make one, went to work on trying to recreate it through Harry's blood.

He wouldn't have minded, but the fact that he had to bleed 12 pints of blood for a new stone to be created wasn't that all appealing, especially, when Nicholas had bound him to the table he was laying and removed a specially oriented knife for the occasion.

Apparently, he and his wife weren't so eager to enter the 'Next Great Adventure' as Dumbledore had led him to believe.

He was thankful however that he still had enough sense to keep his wand on his person in his holster, with a liberal use of Notice-Me-Not charms, and fired the Killing Curse, ending the senile old man's life. His wife quickly followed when she attempted to continue his work, despite seeing the results of such an attack first hand a few seconds prior.

It was after that little stunt that he had officially had it with the magical world, and officially severed ties with it. Publicly announcing his disgust with the world and waste of lives during that final confrontation with Voldemort, Harry had disappeared off the planet, his money able to hide his location for several decades, as he slowly took in the world that he had neglected since he turned eleven.

Science had revolutionized in the coming years, and diseases and sicknesses that were once incurable during his youth, were treated similarly to head colds.

Gene therapy had been just introduced, and became standard practice in the medical field. Mandatory for all citizens of all nations, Harry had found the procedure unpleasant, not to mention unnecessary, but had gone along with it. It helped that he had an official record.

And then soon came the discovery of the Prothean Ruins on Mars, and then the Mass Relays, followed closely by the First Contact War.

He had taken part in the war, seeing it as an opportunity to expand his horizons as it were, and discovered one thing that always sat with him, even now.

Turians were tough sons-of-bitches to take down.

After the Citadel Council called a ceasefire and humanity had a chance to explain themselves better, they were offered an embassy, much to the ire of several associate members, most who had been waiting for centuries to gain an embassy of their own, due to their own government and formidable military force. The newly formed System Alliance had taken the offer with grace, though they pushed heavily since to gain a seat on the Council, while also pushing for a human Spectre, as well as more human employees within C-Sec and other affiliates. More or less, the current Turian representative on the Council didn't like the decision that the his predecessor had made, willing to give humans an embassy so soon, a sentiment many Citadel species shared, especially when it was his people's fleet that was used to prove humanities front in the galaxy. It also didn't help that the Turian male was a bit of a racist.

This however led to another matter all together.

The discovery of biotics.

Magicals, at the time of the discovery of the Mass Relays, was already a dying race. Once in the high numbers of hundreds of thousands, was now dwindled down to barely a startling two thousand. Many had left Earth and headed for the unknown systems of the galaxies, joining the newly formed colonies and giving up on magic in favor of survival. A handful of a few hundred, mostly Pureblood descendents, fought against the truth.

Magic was dying.

Earth, the source of magic itself, was dying out. Less and less magical children were being born every year, to the point where Purebloods, in their own ignorance, cast out all non purebloods, blaming the lack of magical births on them. As such, monitoring devices on non magical children were stopped and inbreeding between families began anew. Decades of falling health, stillborns, and a great deal of other physical illness and diseases was soon a result of the magical communities ignorance, and by the time they learned this, it was far too late to change.

In reality, magical children had indeed been born, and still were, but horrible treatment from the community still bared fresh wounds and ill feelings, thus, most muggleborn magicals never knew their talents. Parents who received a magical education taught their children enough to hide their abilities, or in some cases, bound their talents altogether. It soon became a cycle of muggleborns to either hid or rid themselves of their abilities entirely to the point where such a discovery of their unique abilities, no matter how trite, was to be condemned and removed immediately.

While there may have been hundreds, maybe thousands of magical children out in the universe, there was no organization, no instructors to teach them how to use their talents. Whatever form of instruction there was remained firmly within the Purebloods, which they wouldn't pass on to any muggleborn. Half-bloods no longer remained, having either blended within muggle society or become intertwined with the Pureblood's limited gene pool. And with no new births, and mostly all Purebloods beyond childbearing years, it went without saying that the Magical world, its society, organizational structure, and its way of life, was well and truly over.

Which no doubt led to their desperate and near idiotic attempt to fuse biotics with magic.

Magic and biotics. Harry snorted at the thought that his kind had in regards to both. The fools from the Department of Mysteries, the only remnant of Magical Britain, in an act of desperation, thought that biotics and magic shared some sort of link. That it was a subdivision, a more reclusive, and primitive if you will, form of magic. The fools completely disregarded the muggle world, having stopped monitoring that world for more than a century, and had only discovered the use of biotics through sheer luck.

Of course, the idiots had no clue how biotics worked and merely kidnapped various individuals that showed cancerous growths due from element zero exposure and used magical experimentation and rituals. Bloodletting, sacrifices, sexual rituals, everything they had they used. It was 2158, and by then, less than one hundred trained magical witches and wizards existed on Earth. The actually count was around seventy or so, all of which were very old and way beyond child baring years.

They were already dead; they just refused to accept their fate.

And it was all for nothing. By the year 2159, Harry James Potter-Black, was the last living true magical in the entire galaxy. Granted, he had played a large part in that, having killed the majority of the remaining population from both his generation and beyond that, through use of modern day weapons and espionage. Whoever he didn't mark for death, was already very well on their way. No abundant magic in the area forced the body of a magical to decay and sicken like any other human. Already old by magical terms, and considered bedridden by the mundane, they died from failing health and disease.

It also didn't help that they contracted element zero from those they kidnapped, creating very…interesting effects. Painful from what he could see, but interesting. In fact, Harry himself at the time didn't care much for biotics. He usually dealt with the usual dregs of society, mostly small time gangs, sometimes going for the big time names like either the Blood Packs, Eclipse, or Blue Sun. Rarely did he every face anyone with biotic abilities, unless of course they were Asari, in which case Harry didn't even bother or he hit them hard and fast.

That was of course until he met one Arasi in particular twelve years later.

Samara, an Asari Justicar.

It goes without saying that Harry at the time was working as a mercenary, an assassin really, or, as he liked to refer to himself, 'a business man with standards.' It was pure coincidence that both he and the Asari both sought out the same target, though for different reasons.

Harry had assumed she was a hired gun, and while he didn't see an active shield anywhere on her from his Omni-tool, hoped she wasn't skilled in biotics to generate a Barrier. She had assumed likewise, though Harry's lack of a shield was more magic based, (shield charm was more dependable then) and merely batted him away like annoying fly.

He didn't take kindly to that, and retaliated through use of a Bombardment Hex. The fight that ensued was less of a fight and more of the most severe beating he had ever received in his life. To be fair, her outfit was rather distracting, something Harry was certain she knew and did deliberately. And he maintained that defense now seventeen years later.

It was only after the Batarain slaver had heard the ruckus and sent his men after them did they work together. Actually, it was more Samara did the fighting and Harry gave her covering fire. In reality, he was licking his wounds while shooting nasty looks at the blue skinned woman's back. After the fight was over, and the slaver dead, did she ask Harry to explain his presence, and offered him her 'sincere apologies' for any and all injuries he had suffered at her hands. He responded in kind.

"You broke my leg, dislocated my shoulder, shattered my pelvis, and nearly punctured my lungs with my own ribs. Piss off."

Did he mention that he was a bit of a sore loser?

Nonplussed by his words, she had taken him to the interior of the slaver camp, using the medical supplies and already prepared campsite for the slaver ring to heal the injured Potter, freeing whatever slaves that hadn't been killed in the firefight before contacting the nearest cruiser, Alliance as it turned out, for a pickup for survivors.

It was the beginning of a very odd companionship between the two near immortal individuals.

Through centuries of experience, she had been able to sense something 'off' about Harry. She had commented that he carried himself like a hardened solider, who had seen years, if not decades of combat and death. He made no comment to her claims, and she didn't pry into his affairs. He had tagged along with her for a while integrating himself into her life as only he could. (He pestered her with questions and prodded her with a stick on occasion until she answered his questions or threw him across the room.) Though he had years to grow out of it, he still had a 'saving people' thing as his long dead friend and brief flame Ginny had so eloquently put it, and it only worked to his advantage as he would still recklessly charge in at times to help those who needed it, which endeared him to the blue skinned woman. At least enough to the point that she overlooked his more…questionable habits. He still maintained that the red sand she found under his cot was for recreational use only!

Some odd years later, seven he believed, they had gone their separate ways. She, on a hunt almost four centuries in the making, which he was privy to surprisingly enough, and he off to do what he did best.

Work freelance.

Due to his own unique planning, he had long ago liquidated all his magical assets and properties in the standard pound and sterling of Great Britain. Through ingenuity and careful planning, he managed to upon humanity's integration to the Citadel to transfer all his funds to the standard Credit that had been established as the universal form of currency. Though his amount of money in total was slightly less than it once was beforehand, seeing as the sterling didn't amount to very much in comparison to Japanese yen or Indian rupees. Money wise, he was very well off, and could afford to live in the priciest hotels for the rest of his life at the most expensive suite ten lifetimes over and still have enough cash to burn.

Of course, Harry would never settle for simply laying back and doing nothing and living such a life of luxury. Sure, during his younger years he had enjoyed the daydreams of settling down and having a family, but by the time he had finished the Dark Lord Voldemort off, he lacked any real substance in his life. Instead, he arranged for all his money to be placed in several different accounts and Credit Chits before taking on life in the galaxy as a mercenary. He hired himself out to any number of individuals, Granted, he did have standards and morals, though if the assignment itself was paying enough or important enough, he could forgo a conscious for a few years. Hell, if it started to bother him more than necessary, he could simply kill the person who paid him for the job. Wonderful therapeutic exercise for those with excessive guilt problems like himself.

However, as more dangerous jobs made themselves available to his person, he was starting to slowly realize that the demand for more biotic soldiers started to rise as well. More and more Asari began joining the Eclipse, the number of Asari Commandos steadily rose, and more biotic potentials were getting bio-amps implants. Hell, even a few Krogen had begun to dabble into biotics. And when he thought Krogan couldn't get any more dangerous!

He finally conceded and realized that while his magic was good, it couldn't just compete with the power of biotics and its destructive capabilities. Granted, he could still function rather well with just his magic alone, but not if he wanted his talents to stay hidden.

It was because of his vast fortune that he was able to hire the best engineers and biochemists to work on him and succeed in implanting L3 bio-amps, in addition to other essential equipment necessary for him to utilize element zero, all made specifically to work just for him. Though he now had biotic abilities, they weren't much in comparison to those who had L2 implants, but he wasn't that concerned over it. On the contrary, he heard that the Alliance was developing a new bio-amp, which would hopefully be out in the market within the next two years or so. Being nearly over two centuries old, waiting two years wasn't much a problem for him. Until then however, he was content with his abilities to use whatever biotic attacks he could.

At least for now.

Another issue presented to him was the other forms of life in the universe.

His opinion on the various races of alien life was…varied. Harry wasn't a racist that much was for certain. He had nearly on occasion killed his former classmate and school rival Malfoy for his less then flattering comments about muggles and muggleborns. He wouldn't lie however, when asked about his opinions on the other intelligent life forms that often visited the Citadel, even if some found his opinions to be slightly…offensive.

For starters, there was the Volus. Short creatures that could only be sustained off world through use of pressure suits and breathers, they were known universally for their commerce skills and trade. Aside from that, the majority of them were often either cowards in the face of danger or overly pacifistic. It was only when money was involved or when they had a security force of mercenaries in front of them that showed some backbone. Harry had the disgusting pleasure to meet a few of less then impressive Volus while on the Citadel, and he was not impressed by what he saw. Hiding behind various hired guns, they flaunted their money around whenever they could, using the fact that they had helped establish the Unified Banking Act as an excuse. These ones in particular were drug dealers, efficient ones at that if he correctly recalled. One had the mordacity to threaten him through C-Sec, the police force of Citadel when Harry had refused to apologize for bumping in to him, which he hadn't. The little bastard hadn't been paying attention to where he was going, to busy ogling one of the asari dancers coming out of Chorea's Den and had crashed into his leg, tumbling arse over kettle. He had made it a point to mention that most of its members where Turian, and that they, the Volus, whom were a member of the Turian Hierarchy, meaning whatever claims that a Volus had would be looked into and handled to their satisfaction. He made it a point to kill the little bastard as soon as his back was turned, which then in turned lead him to having to fight and kill not only his partners but also their security.

Safe to say that he wasn't allowed near Chorea's Den after that, not that it was relevant anyway. The place was destroyed by the geth attack on the Citadel, and from what the rumors suggested, wasn't going to be rebuilt.

To make a long story short, he really didn't like Volus. Or at least those Volus in particular. He did like Dorin and those guys at the used ship dealers. He'd shoot anyone who messed with the nightclub owner, and still to this day, would highly recommend that ship dealership for any form of transport. There prices were honest and fair, something hard to see, especially in the Citadel.

Following that was the Turian themselves. As a whole, he believed the race was too militaristic and held themselves to high above society's standards. He also held a bit of grudge against them. Not from the First Contact War, that he couldn't fault them for that. They were simply doing their duty and following the laws of the Citadel Council, though he had issues with their tactics during the occupation of Shangxi. Bombardment of an entire city block to snuff out a few soliders? What the fuck?

No, what pissed him off was the genophage that they had used against the Krogan race. It reminded him of the horror stories of genocide during World War II and Hitler's destructive reign over Germany and its neighboring countries, and, disturbingly enough, the Pureblood agenda to rid the magical world of all muggleborns. Admittedly, Harry's opinion of the Krogan wasn't that much better, but he wasn't going to begrudge them. They were breed for the art of war. It was in their nature, and they did aid in the Rachni Wars, effectively ending the conflict in a matter of years in which the Citadel Council had been facing decades of battle.

Due however to their rapid population growth, the Citadel Council in all of its wisdom had the genophage created and administered. Granted, this was far beyond his time, in fact, he wouldn't have been born for a few more centuries at the time, but he believed firmly that the genophage caused more harm then good.

The Krogan effectively was a dying race. Most did not see the genophage as a form of population control, but rather as a powerful sterility virus meant to eliminate their entire race. Due to long levity, the Krogan would last a few centuries, so the decline of births slowly depleted the population from millions down to thousands. Most male Krogan took up piracy and mercenary work, no longer concerned about their race's continuous existence, already of the mind that they were going to die out. Others fought over breeding rights, slaughtering each other to gain a female Krogan and hopefully have children.

The status quo for being able to mate soon turned into a ritual of all things, which in retrospect slaughtered more Krogan than necessary. To make matters even worse, they were slowly overcoming the genophage before the Council yet again had a new modified version to be created. As top secret as it was, you could get anything, information included if you had enough credits.

If nothing else, the Turian at least still showed their pride and honor in their decision as even close to fifteen hundred years later, they still stood by their decision.

Asari he already met a few, and aside from a few Matriarchs he spoke to in passing, Samara not included in that count, felt the whole race was just a tad too arrogant. Living a thousand years tends to alleviate ones perception on things obviously. Then again, he was over two hundred, quite a few decades over a human's life span so it was a bit hypocritical for him to judge, especially with his current path on life.

That and their own prejudice against those of their own race for having pureblood children. They hadn't been able to space travel for tens of thousands of years, how do you think their people were able to reproduce and stay alive that long? Genetic diversity his arse…

All he could say was that they at least stayed faithful to whatever partner they had during said species lifespan. Not that it meant much seeing as they lived for a thousand years, but quite a few humans couldn't even stand to be married for more than a year, let alone a lifetime. That and they took to be considered sexual objects of desire pretty well considering the fact that most females of at least humanity anyway, wouldn't. He could almost hear the indigent shrills of his aunt at the scandalous attire asari often wore in public and nightclubs. Or was that McGonagall? For some reason he saw her possibly having a stroke if she were to walk in Chorea's Den…

Finally, there were the Batarains. He hated them, period. Slavers, murderers, rapists, he had made it a point to kill every Batarain he ever met while space traveling, but then found that counterproductive, as most of his clients were Batarain.

So he expanded his clientele and went ahead with his original idea until he reached Omega. Apparently shooting up Batarains wasn't all that frowned upon up until you shoot the personal guard of Omega's CEO, boss, Queen if you were feeling dramatic or wanting to quote one egotistical bitch with a lot of power and little hobbies, who took it as a personal slight against her character when anyone under her employee was shot at.

The bastard was a hired gun for Merlin's sake! He's meant to stand there and take shots if only for Aria herself not to be on the receiving end of them!

He had to admit though, that was probably one of the most exhilarating fights he had ever had, discounting the few scuffles he had with his old 'friend' Tom.

Aside from that, he had other more…_personal_ reasons as to why he hated Batarians, none of which he wished to think of at the moment. The last thing he wanted to do was blow something up in anger and give away his position.

There were the Elcor and Hanar, but he never really interacted with them on any level. Hanar were too annoying with their random speech pattern, reminded him too much of the green trog from those Star Wars films, not to mention their 'worship the Enkindlers or die!' mentality (reminded him of the bloody Christians that his uncle had kept harkening about) and Elcor were just too…emotionally detached. Having heard of the Elcor serial killer back on the Citadel a few years back had nothing to do with his reluctance to interact with the species. Nope, not at all. There were also the Drell, of which were easily the most endangered species in the entire galaxy, their population barely big enough to fill a small city. He didn't have much contact with them, nor was he entirely interested in meeting them sense they lived on a planet full of Yoda wannabes.

Lastly were the ever-nomadic Quarians, a race of beings who lived on a fleet of fifty thousand ships and sealed within environmental suits due to a severely weakened immune system. He found himself compassionate to the Quarians, having being betrayed by their own creations and kicked off their home world, only then to be abandoned by the Council and kicked off the Citadel and having their embassy revoked. He could sympathize with them, having his own problems with betrayals in his long lifetime.

It was a wonder why they even remained anywhere near Council space anymore, and three hundred years of strife still did nothing to soften anyone's feelings for the Quarian race. Hell, humans who had only just joined the broader spectrum of the galaxy began hating Quarians on hearsay, something that Harry despised. It reminded too much of his time in Hogwarts when he was mocked for being the Heir of Slytherin, as a Triwizard Champion, or when he claimed Voldemort to have returned. Sheep, the lot of them, and he was slightly sickened to say that even in two hundred years, nothing had changed.

Breaking away from his thoughts, he aimed down his scope, watching as his target gave the crowd a charming political smile, waving to them as he wrapped up his speech, no doubt waiting for the crowd to quiet down before answering any concerns that some less then pleased individuals would no doubt share.

Too bad he would never get the chance to allay any of those concerns.

Fingering the trigger, Harry fired, the slug flying and landing squarely in the man's temple, killing him instantly. He ignored the screams coming from the surrounding crowd, skillfully reattaching his Mantis to his armor before calmly making his way through the panicked bodies of the citizens of the Citadel, a Notice-Me-Not Charm placed on the Time-Turner around his neck, allowing him to easily bypass C-Sec without even a second glance.

After all, he didn't want to miss the news on the 'tragic' death of the Council's newest seat, Donnel Udina, before he even took office, did he?


	2. Just Any Other Day

**_Disclaimer: I do not own neither Harry Potter or Mass Effect. They belong to J.K. Rowling and BioWare respectively. I do this because its enjoyable._**

* * *

Lowering his choice of beverage, a Jack Daniels, Harry James Potter rolled the flavor around in his mouth before swallowing, wishing more and more for the taste of a butterbeer from his misplaced youth. That or pumpkin juice.

Shaking his head and giving a short nod to Doran, whom was joining a few patrons on the dance floor, Harry ignored the hushed whispers going on across from him by other patrons, listening to the pings of the Quasar machines, indicating another winner much to their delight, and another loser, much to their chagrin and frustration.

Personally he never found the appeal in gambling one's money, despite Dorin's insistence that it was a favorable pastime. His life, he could and would most certainly gamble with. He had been gambling with that for the better part of two hundred years. His affairs with the goblins, if nothing else, taught him not to trust his money with anybody aside from himself. Which was why he had Hermione monitoring his multiple bank accounts. Volus bankers reminded him too much of goblins, and it had nothing to do with their comparable height. In fact, he wondered who would win in a fight, goblins or volus? Decisions, decisions…

Harry shook himself from his thoughts as Hermione emerged from his Omni-Tool, a frown on her virtual features, arms crossed, and a dangerous glint in her eyes he had seen only when he, and by extension, Weasely, had said or done something incredibly stupid.

"Your _employer_ is on his way to see you Harry." The venom the word 'employer' left her lips with showed how much disgust she had for the man in question.

He in response gave a curt nod before shutting the link down. Hermione, one who always tried to show respect and civility towards a person at all times or whenever possible, did not bother to mask her dislike, no, _hate _for the man who was currently paying his paycheck.

This said a lot about his character if nothing else and he'd be smart if he listened to her unspoken warning. Of course he wasn't particularly smart or sensible anyway outside of which end of the gun to hold, so what did he care?

He again stomped his conscious from rearing its unwanted head. That bloody thing had been starting to pop up more often, and it was getting irritating.

Instead, he found his thoughts wondering to an individual whom Hermione would probably approve as a possible employer, though he used the word rather loosely seeing as he probably wouldn't have been anything for his services to the man aside from food and board.

Commander John Shepard. A man awarded the Star of Terra for his miraculous organization and defense of the densely human populated planet of Elysium from an armada of pirates and slavers, now more commonly known as the Savior of the Citadel, and by proxy, the Council, born to both Hannah and Jason Shepard on April 11th, 2154. Graduate of the N7 Special Forces, first Human Spectre, and acting commander of the revolutionary and state of the art frigate constructed by both human and turian ingenuity, the SSV Normandy SR-1.

Slowly, almost with a hint of reverence, if not respect and admiration, he recounted all of the man's exploits since he had been inducted into the Spectres. From his tactical approach on Feros in saving Zhu's Hope and destroying the Thorian, to his callous actions on corporate Noveria and his utter despise of their seeded politics, to Virmire and his destruction of its krogan cloning facility, before finally going to Illos, against orders, both from the Systems Alliance and the Council. The battle that followed was left unspoken.

Of course, not ever was there a story involving a hero of any sort that was filled with nothing but good decisions and no consequence. He could attest to that more than anybody. Hard battles were fought and people were lost, such as Kaidan Alenko. Truthfully, he didn't know the first thing about the man, aside from the fact that he was a Marine and held the rank of Staff Lieutenant. A little digging revealed he was a biotic, an L2, which was surprising considering how crippling those implants were. His interest piped, he dug a little deeper, and found him to be one of the first kids convinced to join the BAaT. He knew only second hand stories, but if they were to be believed, then he was glad that the program had closed down and replaced with the Ascension program.

And he was getting carried away again with his thoughts. Regardless, it really didn't hold any relevance. The man was dead, sacrificed his life in order to set the nuclear bomb on Virmire off and to ensure the Normandy and its crew could escape. It was a decision that all leaders in any combat situation has to make, and Harry did not envy the Commander for it. Sympathetic was more like it.

He frowned as he remembered the Commander's latest assignment, involving chasing nonexistent geth in the Terminus System. Whatever geth that had been in the system would have fled once Sovereign, the Reaper as it was also known as was destroyed. With no leader, and hopelessly outmatched, the only logical option was a retreat. If it were him, Harry would look into the missing colonies within the same system. While most attributed it to the colony disappearances to batarian slavers, Harry knew better. Batarian's liked to advertise their work, especially if the colony they were attacking was human. And if an attack had occurred, some distress signal would have been sent, but their disappearances were only noted after a few days of radio silence.

He took a small sip from his bottle as his thoughts moved more towards more recent news, the biggest being the unfortunate death of former Alliance Ambassador, and newly elected Council seat for humanity, Donnel Udina. His death sparked already heavy tensions between humans and the other Council races to flare into a bonfire. Humans, already pushing for a seat on the Council during its introduction into galactic politics, were more than angry at the death of their newly elected Council seat. They were downright murderous.

Riots broke out on the Wards, reaching as far as the front doors of the Council itself as it made it all the way to the Presidium. Demands were made for the killer to be found and brought to justice, and when not only C-Sec, but the STG brought up no possible leads, speculations that it was the Council itself that was responsible for Udina's death began to arise. Accusations of the Council using one of their Spectre agents to do the deed, and protecting them much as they had with their former rogue agent Saren and his attack on the human colony Eden Prime, spread like wildfire, the Council's already weakened positions due to the geth attack only a few months prior, quickly crumbling. As a result, efforts were doubled to capture the culprit, the individual believed to be the trigger man for the assassination, an antihuman zealot, whom soon gave an account number via credit chit which led to a private holding belonging to the Turian Councilor, Valeom.

The outrage, from humans, turians, asari, and salarians alike, caused whatever sanctimonious image that the Council had to die a rather painful if not quick death instantaneously. The scandal, as it were, in which Valeom, who had made it clear that he was not an advocate in humanity or its problems, caused already tense turian/human relations from the First Contact War to deteriorate that much further. Pro-Human groups such as Terra Firma, whom were already gaining a stronger foothold in politics, readily made itself known as an alternate political group separate from the Alliance. The response to its promises of human only agendas and lack of care to _"appease"_ the various races within the Citadel was meet with high recruitment numbers and funding. The Alliance, despite pushing former Captian turned Admiral, and then assistant for Udina, David Anderson, to the position of Council seat, lost a bit of its support, both from civilians and some of its financial backers. It no longer stood as infallible, this fact only cemented by the high death toll of Fifth Fleet released to the public during Sovereign's destructive raid.

All of which had gone according to his employer's plan. Granted, Harry himself didn't see the majority of the man's scheme, and had pegged him as just another politician trying to get ahead. Calculating, cold hearted, and furthermore, ruthless, this was the type of man Harry had despised as a child, and had grown to respect after his long life.

That isn't to say he trusted the man. He didn't, at all. It all boiled down to the fact that the man could and would if the end result was to his satisfaction, move a lot of credits. And he said a lot of credits; he meant enough to start about fifteen colonies out in the Traverse _with_ additional on planet and orbital defenses.

And that still would leave his coffers overflowing with credits.

Of course such an act wasn't in the man's best interests. Though it probably would solve the whole disappearing colonies fiasco, or, at the very least, give the Alliance some time to mobilize and send out a response.

His train of thought broke as he noticed said man walk inside the club, his eyes meeting his as soon as he stepped foot within the threshold, making his way through the crowded dance floors, their gazes never breaking. _'Speak of the devil…'_

The man stopped at his table and stood before him, a pair of human bodyguards dressed in Colossus Armor, armed with nothing but a pair of pistols. Undoubtedly the rest of their weapons were confiscated at the entrance and were only allowed their pistols, and even that was no doubt done reluctantly. The bodyguards didn't look special aside from their fancy armor. No doubt ex-Alliance who sold their allegiance for a steady paycheck or a couple of mercs who were merely looking for their next big score. It was his employer who had his full attention.

The man in question was tall, round at about 6'2. He was dressed rather modestly in comparison to his usual attire, wearing a rather generic suit instead of his usual Giuli Vorn designer. Still that didn't take anything away from him as he still radiated an imposing demeanor, nor did it take away from his regality.

His face looked to be chiseled from stone from his stoic expression, his features aristocrat in nature, featuring a strong chin, high cheek bones, sharp nose, thin lips, and a pair of cold grey blue eyes. His hair was dark black, with speckles of brown thrown in from the obstruct lighting of the club, edges crisped with grey and a well trimmed and kept goatee gracing his lower face. Wrinkles aside from those surrounding his eyes were absent, almost as if the notion of old age did not have any meaning to him, and his body reflected that.

"You did well Mr. Potter. Much better than I expected really."

Harry in response merely raised his beer in the air in a mock toast towards the man whom addressed him. If he were anyone else, he was certain he would have been killed by the sheer mordacity of the act.

"I simply do the job I'm paid for sir. Though I will admit, I did not see the full scope of your plan until only a few days ago. All that aside, I trust your trip from Earth was pleasant enough?"

The man gave a subtly snort at the question, almost as if insulted by the question in itself.

"Indeed it was. Always room for improvement of course, civilian ships while made for luxury are not ideal for VIP's such as myself, or even you Mr. Potter, but any one of my private ships would have raised red flags to a few individuals I do not wish to know of my presence within the system at this time."

Harry in response merely raised an eyebrow, feigning confusion at the man's question. "At this time? You wish for your enemies to know you are in the system? I would think that a man of your caliber would want to stay low if that were the case, or do you some private army located in an undisclosed area waiting for attack orders perhaps?"

The man smiled in response. A hundred years ago, it would have sent violent chills down Harry's spine. Not it just made him feel…twitchy.

"As sarcastic as ever, Mr. Potter. It assures me that you are still the confident young man that I hired to deliver that special package to Omega those few years ago."

Harry merely tilted his head in acknowledgement of the statement. "And of course, I learned to always check the packages I am to deliver to ensure they are not a mass effect field bomb, and that the receiver of the package is not AriaT'Lok. The bright side to that particular assignment is that you don't have to go back to Omega ever again, whether you want to or not. Fear of being shot, killed, tortured, and all that."

The man did not respond to his statement, though the slight flicker in his eyes showed that he was slightly angered by the comment, but had let it slide. It was a blow to the man's ego and pride to have been bested by anyone. The fact that it was an Asari only rubbed salt onto the wound.

"So I take it you aren't here just to offer me congratulations for a job well done, are you? Because if so, no thanks are necessary, the credits were thank you enough."

The man gave another one of those tightlipped smiles, onyx eyes gazing at him, trying to pierce him to the wall. He reached within his pressed suit, revealing a datapad before sliding over to him, his eyes never leaving Harry's own emerald.

"I have another job for you Mr. Potter. After this, I will have no more need of your services. The payment I believe you will find quite sufficient, and following its success, I have some contacts within the Alliance that could use a man of your talents if you're looking for a much higher cliental list."

Sliding the datapad closer towards him, Harry skimmed through the information provided before looking directly into his employer's eyes. Images of a baby held within a swaddle came to the forefront, followed by a young, beautiful teenage girl, dressed in a form fitting white strapless dress, sitting on a table before standing up and pulling a Predator out and firing, ended by feelings of anger, betrayal, pride, and a desire for revenge and murder.

He pulled out of the man's mind slowly, gathering what he needed as he pushed the datapad off to the side before looking directly at the man before him, his expression blank with an inner turmoil storming in his mind. As promising as the man's words were for future clients, especially those within the Alliance, he was uncertain if he was truly capable of keeping his word. Not that he lacked the resources to do so, or the contacts, but rather, Harry could see him gaining very little from doing so.

This hadn't been the first time Harry had looked into the man's mind, nor has it been the first time that he had seen those images. Usually he had only sensed the anger associated with those memories, always being at the back of the man's mind, but always present enough within his thoughts that Harry could glance at them without the man feeling him running through his mind. This was the first time he felt any other emotions that associated with those images, nor the thoughts that came with them.

It left him on edge slightly at how far and sick this man truly was, but at the same time, it also made him sympathetic. A good man he was not, but he had a brilliance and wit that he didn't see many posses today. An exceptional man, if not egomaniacal and arrogant to a fault. If it weren't for the man's twisted desires and equally frightening state of mind, Harry might have tentatively called him a friend, or at the very least, an acquaintance, perhaps an ally.

Unfortunately the realities of dreams were illusions built by one's personal wants and desires. And he vehemently pushed his wants and desires, his dreams that he had wanted, still wanted, as a child into the far corner of his mind, closing the door behind him and metaphorically throwing away the key. He would dwell on those thoughts another time, preferably when he was smashed to the point where a female krogan would start to look like good company for the night.

At the very least he wouldn't remember those somber thoughts and feelings associated with them the following morning.

Leaning forward, and strangling the little voice in his head that said he was going to regret this, which he did so happily when it started to sound like a certain annoying greasy haired bat, Harry folded his hands in front of his chin before looking the man sitting before him right in the eyes, unwavering.

"I accept."

* * *

_**Two Weeks Later: Crescent Nebula, Tasale System, Illium, Nos Astra Commerical Spaceport; 0900, Earth Standard Time…**_

* * *

Stepping out of the gunship, Harry took a look around the cargo area they were in, not even sparing the men and women that stepped out beside him a glance, their golden armor and black insignia designating their allegiance to Eclipse. He'd almost rather deal with the Blue Suns then these…less then reputable men and women. At the very least they didn't have such obnoxious egos, and he could at least expect them to be honest and upfront about whatever future betrayal they might or might not have planned for him. One of the reasons he didn't like that bitch Wasea was because she had shot him point blank with a modded shotgun to the chest after his first assignment here, not wanting to 'share a paycheck' with him.

…maybe that little revenge scheme he had in his head could be implemented a little early? Make it look like an accident? His thoughts broke at the heavy footfalls behind him, a heavy accented voice breaking the silence that had permitted the hanger since the engines cut off, the only sound being the footsteps of Eclipse mercenaries surveying the area.

"The last time I was surrounded by Eclipse like this was back when I made a few runs back in the Traverse. Sodding bastards were hired by the same employer as me and my men. Didn't think we could handle the job probably. Either that or the Eclipse offered him a cheaper rate for cheaper service. Didn't rightly matter though. Blew them and the ship we were hired to take down clear out of fuckin' sky. Paid the slimly bastard a visit afterwards though. Suffice to say, poor slob never hired my services again, nor anyone else's for that matter."

Harry turned his head slightly, a roguish grin crossing his face as an physically imposing figure stood beside him, his only working eye scanning the room, his fake prostatic eye unmoving, staring blankly in one direction. Unnerving to some, and frightening to most, Harry thought it was the most badass thing he ever saw. And that was saying something, with two hundred years or so under his built. And the wicked looking scar that marred half the man's face was a nice added touch to finish off the whole one man army look, not including his decade's old armor, riddled with burn marks and holes from both mass accelerator weapons and knives.

He rubbed at his faint lightning bolt scar, and felt slightly subconscious. Never a fan of it to begin with, it gave him a whole new reason to scowl at it once his eyes yet again glanced to his companions face.

Why couldn't he have a wicked looking scar too? After all, some women were attracted to that weren't they?

"Some, though most of those are krogan. Maybe a few turians thrown in for variety."

…shit. He said that out loud, didn't he?

His companion's slight grin did nothing to reassure him that his assessment in that notion was wrong.

"Fuck you Massani."

"Don't swing that Potter, though if you're desperate, there's this little place down in the lower city called Azure and I'm sure they'll have something to your tastes as questionable as they may be."

"…I walked right into that one, didn't I?"

"Made it all the more entertaining for me, kid."

Muttering about old smart mouthed bastards, Harry walked down the ramp of the gunship, Zaeed Massani giving a small chuckle at his lack of response.

Zaeed Massani. Harry had met the man some many years ago while he was starting out as a mercenary. He had signed up with him on his first mission, which had been to take out some turian frigate right after the First Contact War had ended. Lost the entire squad aside from the two of them, but they had managed to blew the entire thing to pieces. From then on, they become friends, comrades, and old war veterans. Harry had been there when Zaeed had founded the Blue Suns, and had nursed the bastards sorry ass back to health after Vido Santiago, the backstabbing little shit that he was, had shot him in the head.

Zaeed also knew Harry's secret. Not that he was magical, that particular secret he was going to carry with him to the grave, whenever that particular day ended up being a year from now or three hundred years. No, what he knew was that Harry was old, old enough to make Zaeed look like a toddler in comparison. In terms of how, he let the man draw his own conclusions, ranging from advanced cybernetics to genetic cloning. The technology did exist at the time after all, even if it was just limited to sheep and dogs.

It wasn't lying, not really. Harry just didn't have the heart to correct him. Nothing bad in that right?

He again crushed his conscious under the heel of his boot, imaging it to be a certain blonde haired ferret albino which added a new vigor to his mental stomping.

_ 'Too bad I didn't discover _Kill the Furry Little Animal_ until after the little bastard died. Would have been fun _asking _him to play.'_

Regardless, he shook the thought off, leaving his conscious to bleed out and crawl somewhere in a ditch to recover, before checking his weapons, ensuring they were in proper working order.

It didn't take long for his mind to wonder again, this time towards his current assignment, and in particular, the contact his employer had set up that would lead to his new target that he had to 'rescue'.

All he had to do was _convince_ the contact that revealing his employer's assignment priority would be beneficial.

And, in all honesty, it didn't take much from Harry's end to get the contact that his employer listed to cooperate. Rarely wanting to expose his magical abilities since there are things that even science and biotics couldn't explain, his usual means of information gathering was out. Not that it wouldn't have been impossible for him to simply extract the information he required from the man's mind and make him simply forget their little encounter, but he knew the man was being watched, both literally and figuratively. His financial accounts, daily extranet logs, work schedule, everything. At the slightest hint of betrayal on the contact's part, he was sure that the 'kidnapper' of his current target would undoubtedly find out within days, if not hours, and thereby send a 'response' to deal with the betrayal.

The question of course, was how she would deal with the man in question. The contact would no doubt plead his case, as most Benedict Arnold's do. He never cared for the American of the same name, though he did love the breakfast. He was sure the man would state a forced confession, perhaps at gun point or something as equally as repugnant. Personally, for him anyway, he felt that if you had to resort to straight out violence to get what you wanted, then in his opinion, you were no better than a petty thug. Menacing, sure, he could understand. Intimidation? Hell, he was an advent Batman fan if that gave his opinion on that matter any credence. But in all honesty, he was more of James Bond type of guy. Why threaten when you can seduce and concord? Or that could be just his inner country man coming out or general preference to anything and everything British. America coffee had nothing on a proper Englishmen herbal tea.

Regardless, he was able to get the man to give up information on his target's location rather easily. He only had to play to the man's past, needling him somewhat on his upbringing, reminding him of his family's poverty during his youth and running quite a few numbers by him that ended in quite a bit of zeroes. To that end, he asked him if given the chance, wouldn't he want to save a child from a miserable childhood much like his own?

And much like the simple, cowardly, and greedy man he was, he took the deal offered to him. You would think that after spending something close to twenty years of friendship with an individual would shed some light on a person's character and motives, but apparently that wasn't the case. He did not question his friend's reasons for her subsequent kidnapping, nor did he question why his employer wanted the target back. He didn't even think on the fact that the girl in question wasn't even a baby anymore, let alone a child, and that she had grown up knowing the love of her family now, biological or not. Add to that his naïve belief that money actually bought happiness, in addition to the fact that the friend in question had lived within close proximity the first fifteen years of his life, and even with the money that his employer lavished on her, had still ran away?

It was idiocy, plain and simple, and no matter how much he may think otherwise, the man wasn't doing this for the good of a young woman he believed, despite the facts otherwise, of being a child. He was doing it to get ahead in his rather desolate life, and to get back at a woman who had been nothing but kind and a good friend to him all his life.

He was awfully tempted to just shoot the man and be done with it, but he figured that would be too good for him, at least for the moment. Seeing him torn asunder and realizing how much of a fool he was before his life ended would be a much satisfying end. He only wished he was this vindictive some one hundred and fifty years back. Would have made his confrontation with the youngest Weasely male that much more satisfying at the time.

Breaking his thoughts and injecting a thermal clip into his M-9 Tempest and making sure his M-8 assault rifle was properly strapped to his back, he gave Zaeed a glance, momentarily appraising him for combat before called the attention the remaining mercenaries, activating his scouter and making sure it was reading him accurate targeting information before he addressed his men, as expendable as they were.

"Okay ladies and gentlemen, let's explain the ground rules. We are here for one thing and one thing only. I can assume that the majority of you have at least read the mission schematics that were handed out on the way here, and if not, at least took the time to ask one of your teammates for the information?"

He gave no visible reaction as few mercs fidgeted to the side a bit, while others obviously didn't care for a single thing he was saying. Others just ignored him. They were hired guns after all, and their jobs were simply to shoot and kill. Any planning or tactical skills were above their pay grade.

And Harry was content with that, but he was not about to have a bunch of witless morons ruin his reputation he spent years working on. When he took a job, he not only completed it, but did so with little to no causalities, with all possible leads destroyed and all investigations made by the local authorities fruitless. He took pride in his work, which was why he only worked for the few instead of the many like the Blue Suns, Eclipse, and the Blood Pack. He often compared himself to the likes of Keji Okuta and the infamous Kasumi Goto. Both were the best in the business of thievery, and both were unknown as a whole and only known by a select few.

And this job would be no different.

"In case you haven't however; let me give you all a reminder. We are here for a young woman, age seventeen, named Oriana Benson. She lives in a modest apartment complex with her mother and father outside of Illium. We are here to secure, capture and nothing else. No harm is to come to the parents nor the target, or any civilians that may be caught in any eventual crossfire. The reason you are all here is to simply provide security and if the time comes, a sizeable combat force. I will be blunt with you right now. I honestly don't give a flying fuck whether any of you live to see tomorrow. And among the majority of you, I can see the feeling is mutual. Here's the kicker though. You are being paid by my employer, and the man left me in charge, and while under my leadership, you will follow the above stated guidelines. Failure to do so will render my immediate displeasure and swift retribution, unfortunately in your case resulting in untimely death."

It was here that Harry smiled, his eyes flashing blood red long enough for every single mercenary in the room to capture the color shift before he reverted them back to his usual green.

"I assure you, it will not be swift or kind to you. You will bleed, you will cry, you will try to bargain, you will beg for mercy, and eventually, you will ask me to kill you to make the pain stop. And I, being the merciful man that I am, will oblige."

He noted among the many Eclipse whom still had yet to put on their helmets or decided to forgo one, looked pale, clammy, and above all else, afraid. Afraid of him.

He gave a lopsided grin before gesturing to a few Eclipse mercenaries before him, watching with amusement as they flinched as he pointed at them, before saying, "You four with me. Zaeed, you as well. And pick a squad of your own. The rest of you are to remain here and secure the cargo bay and transport station. Evacuate all civilians from the sector and nonessential staff. I have little doubt a firefight will break out at some point, and I sincerely hope that none of you wish to harm any innocent bystanders, now do you?"

Many shook their heads, several shouting disapproval at the idea before they scrambled to secure the cargo bay as instructed before moving throughout the rest of the spaceport, following his instructions.

Coming up to his side, a cigar lit between his lips, Zaeed bit out between puffs of smoke, "Bunch of pansies, the lot of them. They'll about looked ready to damn near about piss themselves. I did like the scare tactic though."

Waving his hand and blowing the smoke away from his face, Harry grabbed the cigar between Zaeed's lips and crushed it under his heel before he replied, "I thought it was a nice touch myself. Now enough chitchat. If we're fast enough, we may actually get the girl and be off this pretty and pink version of Omega by sundown."

Growling slightly at his cigar now in ashes and pieces at his feet, Zaeed merely grunted in response before saying, "Alright then. Maybe then I could actually have a smoke without you ruining it."

"Keep dreaming Zaeed, keep dreaming."

It had been four hours since Harry had left the hanger bay, and all he could say was that he was getting annoyed.

Not at how long it was taking to find the girl, point of the matter was that he had found her half an hour ago, volunteering her time in some outreach program for human colonies. She was busy lifting supply crates with three other volunteers onto transports and helping see to donations from credits to nonessential items.

No, what got him annoyed and walking in damn circles was the freaking shadows he had on his back, all dressed inconspicuously, some as civilians, and others as law enforcement, staying a respectable, or so they thought, distance from him.

So far, he counted eleven, all armed. Six were civilians from appearance, and were at least armed with pistols and a kinetic generator. The other five however were law enforcement, and saw at least three armed with an assault rifle and shotgun. Another had a sniper rifle and SMG, while the last one simply had a single pistol on his belt.

Typically, he would have had Zaeed handle them, or killed them himself at this point, but they were still in a densely populated area, and he didn't want any innocent civilians to get in the crossfire. That, and he didn't want one of them slipping into the crowd and blend in, undoubtedly relaying a message to his secondary target if she were to show up, which she would if she caught wind of what was happening, along with an army of highly trained commandos.

As good as a fight as it would be, he rather liked his spotless record and preferred to keep it that way.

Stepping into a side alley, Harry gave a small sigh of relief as he noted it lead further down into an abandoned building. A perfect place to leave a quite a few rotting corpses and the perfect opportunity to hone his skill set with his newly dubbed guinea pigs.

Killing said guinea pigs that had been annoying him for the past three and a half hours was just the icing on the cake.

Stepping inside, Harry let a smirk spread across his lips before leaning into the shadows, disappearing from view.

'_Let the games begin…'_

* * *

Katherine had grown up knowing two things.

Might didn't make right, and aliens weren't better than humans.

The first she quickly realized was incorrect. Might _did_ make right. She saw it for herself on Elysium during her brief service in the Alliance military. She had been one of the reinforcements dropped groundside after the Alliance had picked up on the planet's distress signal. The second lesson she learned while searching the empty houses and destroyed buildings, trying to find survivors among the screaming, blood, and fire.

Aliens weren't better than humans. They were _fucking_ worse than humans.

Children, staring blankly in front of them as their parents bodies laid in front of them, blood pouring from numerous bullet wounds, back streaked with welts and lacerations, evidence of torture, some violated in ways that made her throw up the minute she got a look at them…

All to prove that humans weren't as tough as they thought they were? To teach humanity a pathetic lesson about knowing their place in the galaxy as subservient to the other races of the galaxy?

It was on that day that Katherine Armando decided that aliens were the scourge of the galaxy. And she didn't give a rat's ass what the Alliance said otherwise.

Her only regret was that she had resigned from service before the Alliance's counterattack on Tonfon, an assignment she would have gladly volunteered for if only to show those fucking batarians why humans deserved to be so feared.

As it stood though, she had quit, read about the heavy losses and the horrendous, according to the reports anyway, executions of all captured prisoners.

Good riddance she had said.

That had gotten her fired from her desk job in retaliation for her, quote on quote, "Xenophobic behavior".

Not that she had cared initially. Damn alien appeaser. Terra Firma had the right idea with the Alliance's bullshit political agenda.

Regardless, no matter her thoughts or personal opinions, she still had bills to pay, her military pension wasn't going to last her long, and nobody was willing to hire a 'xenophobe' unless they themselves were xenophobic, and nobody was stupid enough to admit that aloud, let alone hire someone who was.

Things were starting to look desperate until she heard of an organization that was looking for new recruits. A former Alliance black ops operation turned rogue, now a well funded and more importantly, to her anyway, anti alien organization.

Cerberus.

Upon her interview, if one could call sending an encrypted message detailing all her knowledge, combat experience, weapon expertise, and former Alliance history to an unknown carrier, she had been contacted later that day with an offer she had to have been stupid to refuse.

A new job, a new home, on a new planet out in the Terminus System, away from Alliance red tape and fighting the good fight for the betterment of humanity? Hell yes!

Though she was excited initially for the new job, she soon got bored when all she spent her time doing was basically glorified security detail on numerous bases across the galaxy, hoping from one planet to another.

And then she got landed her with a bunch of other Cerberus lackeys, having to guard some damn teenage girl, the sister to one of the Illusive Man's pets she vaguely recalled, from anybody who may try to harm her.

For three months she been stuck working as one of Ilium's armed security forces, more notably being the Nos Astra Police Department, watching over some bratty teenage girl while handling ridiculous complaints about red sand licensing, to indentured servants complaining about their unfair contracts, to scruples merchants double dealing their customers. It came down to shooting her own brains out or the next whining little bitch that walked through her office door!

And then, mercifully, the call came in from the Illusive Man himself.

Somebody had tracked the girl to Ilium.

They were not to leave the planet alive.

Of course, that was what she had been told anyway. There was probably more that Intelligence Officer had neglected to tell her, but that was IOs for you. They had all the relevant info, but refused to share it until absolutely necessary.

Bastards.

More to the point, she and a group of ten other 'Watchers' as they had dubbed themselves, had been tracking this one guy for the better part of three, nearly four hours now.

They had noticed him heading right for their assigned VIP before stopping short, noticing undoubtedly one or two of them looking straight at him. At that point he had moved along, pretending he wasn't going towards her before changing direction and heading down the busy and crowded streets.

He was trying to lose them, an amateurish tactic. Especially considering he was wearing rather expensive looking armor in a sea of casually dressed civilians. He stood out like a krogan at a turian only bar.

In addition, the man was alone, and from what she could see, barely armed, wielding only a pistol and assault rifle.

If nothing else, she at least get a bit of action, even if all it was involved holding the trigger of her assault rifle at a single target with the rest of her squad acting similarly.

She gave an irritated huff before she and her group of Cerberus operatives moved into the empty building their query had ran into, pulling out their respective weapons and activating their kinetic barriers.

Once inside, she shifted her gaze from side to side, noticing the lack of cover, and the decaying structure. Whatever this place had been created for, she hadn't the slightest clue, though from the large empty space before her, she guessed it was once a warehouse of sorts.

Which begged the question…

"Where the fuck did he go?"

She heard a company of voices from her fellow employees, but ignored them for the fact that the question was not only rhetorical, but also that she really didn't give a damn what their answers were. It obviously wasn't a tactical cloak, as rare as they were, as their omni-tools had built in scanners that would have alerted them to such a device.

She moved forward, her teammates following as they remained in a tight group, leaving no openings, and she silently fumed, the irritating thought of the man they were tracking somehow giving them the slip causing her blood to boil.

_'I swear if that bastard got away, I'm gonna-!'_

That was her last thought before a flash of green light flew from the surrounding darkness, bypassing through her shields and striking her in the chest.

She was dead before she even hit the floor.

* * *

Harry leaned his head out from the corner of the ceiling he had perched himself on, emerald green eyes narrowing into slits as he watched the now ten remaining men and women assemble themselves into groups of fives before spreading out through the building, weapons drawn and aiming at ever nock and cranny their eyes stumbled upon, leaving the corpse of their fallen comrade where it laid.

All it did was make him smile before he leaned back into the shadows, obscuring himself from sight.

With sticking charms still in place, Harry scaled the ceiling, approaching one group heading to the upper floors, pausing over a broken shaft that was once an elevator.

_'Now this has some potential…'_

Quickly moving inside, he scaled the walls until he had a decent vantage point looking down into the open doorway leading into the shaft, taking care to keep himself hidden away from any prying flashlights or glow lights that those idiots might have been carrying.

Harry waited until the group had turned before conjuring a single rock and tossing it down the shaft, the click and clank sound it made drawing a lone man's attention as he attempted to catch up with the group.

Raising his assault rifle the man walked slowly back to the shaft. Harry tensed his legs, waiting patiently for the man to get closer. One he was only a single step from falling within the shafts depths, looking over the ledge with his rifle aiming downwards, he struck.

Leaping down like a predator, Harry wrapped his kneecaps around the man's neck, giving him a quick grin before twisting his legs, snapping his neck before flipping over him, kicking his now dead corpse down the elevator shaft, making it a point to give a small wince at the slightly squelch that he heard upon the body's impact to the ground below.

Two down, nine to go.

* * *

Harry moved with catlike grace, shifting from shadow to shadow; eyes watching what were once nervous and cautious movements from the once eleven individuals, into a fitful frenzy of only five.

He had been at it for fifteen minutes already, and almost been caught twice, both times due to a bit of carelessness on his part then to any skills this group of guns for hire may or may not have had.

He shifted along the rusted and slightly crumbling structure, eyes still trained on the group, specifically one in particular. Young, probably no older than twenty, and undoubtedly a rookie if the way he was shaking and the improper handling of his weapon said anything.

He'd make it quick for him

Hand outstretched slightly, he aimed at the nervous man, feeling a small twinge of regret at what he was about to do.

At the very least, he wasn't going to feel any pain.

Licking his suddenly dry lips, Harry murmured two words, infinitely famous once in his life, and being the cause of so much grief in his previous youth.

"Avada Kedavra…"

A blast of green light shot from his hand, striking the young man in the back, causing him to fall forward, his gun failing from his hands before his lifeless body crumbled into a boneless heap on the floor.

The remaing four immediately whirled around, their guns aimed directly at him, causing Harry to curse slightly as his last attack gave him away before the group opened fire.

Dropping down to the floor, Harry avoided the initial burst of fire, and once he landed on the ground, ran full speed towards his still firing enemies, weaving his way through the hall of fire, his kinetic barriers absorbing what he couldn't avoid.

Once close enough to the group, Harry through up a shield charm, watching it nearly falter as it absorbed a shotgun blast before raising his hand up, surrounding in biotics, lifting the man high into the air, his shotgun falling from his grasp.

Harry immediately dodged to the right, narrowly avoiding a burst of assault rifle fire, striking the offender in the stomach and neck in quick succession before rising himself on his hands, striking with both armored feet another Cerberus operative in the chin, whom had raised his pistol in an effort to strike Harry in the back of the head.

Rolling himself in a ball, and straddling the man he had initially struck, Harry quickly grabbed him around the chin and top of his skull before giving a sharp twist, breaking the man's neck.

Moving swiftly, Harry grabbed the abandoned shotgun, bringing it up and bearing on the last of the group, a woman, wielding a sniper rifle, its barrel passing right by his right shoulder, his recently acquired shotgun leveled one handed in front of her face.

He had enough time to register the look of utter surprise on her face with a twinge of fear before he pulled the trigger, watching as blood, mangled flesh, as well as brain matter flew across the floor, some of it speckling his armor and the shotgun he had in hand.

Tossing it the shotgun to the side after ejecting the spent thermal clip, Harry turned his gaze back to the man he had hit with his feet, watching as he stumbled to stand up, mouth bleeding and a look of panic on his face.

Aiming his hand to the right, he sent a silent overpowered Incendio at the released form of his first target, whom had fallen from the air from his biotic attack.

His green eyes never left the struggling man's, even as the screams of his dying ally filled the room and broke the heavy silence between them.

What felt like an old western stare down that felt like hours, but was only a few seconds, followed between the two before they both acted, the sole surviving Cerberus operative raising his pistol, and Harry dashing forward before jumping a short distance into the air.

Swinging his foot, Harry kicked the pistol out of the man's hand before landing on his feet, his head leaning back before he slammed it full force into his opponents unguarded and surprised face.

He heard, and felt his skull collide harshly with the man's nose, the sickening crunch and slight splash of warm liquid dripping down his forehead telling him that he had broken it.

Fist poised, he slammed it into the man's stomach, before giving a swift jab with his other to his cheek, kneeing him in the stomach as a follow up before slamming his elbow into the man's neck, sending him crashing to the ground, groaning in pain as he scrambled to detach his shotgun from his waist.

Once he did, he turned into, finger a hair away from pulling the trigger only to find Harry gone.

Scrambling to his feet, blooding pouring down his shattered nose, swerved his weapon from side to side, sweat working its way down his face as he tried in vain to find the man responsible for the death of his entire squad.

"Son of a-! WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU BASTARD?"

The man didn't get a response, not that he really expected one, and turned his head to meet the emerald green eyes of one highly amused Harry Potter.

"I'm here."

He didn't get a chance to scream as Harry pressed the Predator he had in hand against the man's throat, the very same that he had knocked out of his grasp earlier, bypassing his shield completely before pulling the trigger, punching a solid hole through his throat before he fell to the floor, chocking on his own blood for all of about five seconds before laying silent.

Tossing his relinquished weapon to the side, Harry took a look around his surroundings, counting the number of bodies present, before nodding his head in a satisfactory motion.

Ten bodies, not including the one he sent down the abandoned shaft.

Maybe it should have bothered him that he killed ten people trying to do their jobs, whether or not they cared about the girl they were supposed to protect or not.

Then again, he wasn't an ignorant seventeen year old boy anymore. Regardless, whether or not they were just doing their jobs or not, he was doing his, and they simply got in the way.

A rationalization, and a crappy one at that, but he could already feel the signs of his conscious rearing its unwanted voice again in the back of his mind. Despite knowing that the world wasn't as black and white as he had been lead to believe all his young life, remnants of that mindset still remained, and he'd just have to deal.

Assuring himself that he had all his weaponry magnetically hooked to his armor and belt, closed his eyes, and with a soft 'pop', disappeared from sight.

* * *

Arriving within the general area of the volunteer center that he had found Oriana at, Harry found the young teenage girl walking out of the building, talking to a salarian, or rather listening. The salarian was doing all the talking; Oriana was listening patiently and with rapt fascination from what he could see.

Silently casting an invisibility charm on himself, Harry kept them in his sights and followed, making sure he was no more than a meter away, taking time to place an additional notice-me-not and silencing charm on his person, rendering his footsteps not only silent, but repelling all passerby from bumping into him and giving him a wide berth.

It was only some odd minutes later that Oriana and the salarian parted ways, and Harry removed the invisibility charm before moving in for the kill, his notice-me-not charm still forcing all passerby to ignore his presence.

He made it three feet within her personal space, watching the salarian part and walk towards a public transport station before making his move.

Reaching for his M-4 Shuriken, he pressed it against the young woman's back, his lips next to her ear as she instinctively turned rigid, her first impulse undoubtedly to scream, perhaps run, but his hand pressed on her waist prevented her from moving.

"Don't move, don't speak. Now there are two ways this can go," he whispered. "You can keep your silence and walk with me to the spaceport, or I can have two squads of Eclipse mercenaries storm the streets, kill innocent lives, before finding your parents and putting them down like dogs. Now, what will it be?"

The girl, still clearly shaken, remained perfectly still, and Harry slowly removed his hand, the girl keeping her lips sealed tight and eyes focused forward.

_'Smart girl.'_

With a slight gesture to the surrounding buildings, he watched as a flash of light from the waning sun answered him before he gently prodded Oriana forward, watching as Zaeed, perched with a sniper rifle in hand, signaled for the other Eclipse to follow after him.

It was time they got off this planet.

* * *

Nos Astra Spaceport, Ilium…

* * *

Arriving at the spaceport, Harry was mildly impressed with the complete lack of personal in the building, and mentally applauded the Eclipse mercenaries he had left behind for following his orders so quickly and thoroughly.

Giving a brief nod of acknowledgement to the guards posted at the entrance to the hanger, Harry went inside, holding Oriana by the arm, leading her inside, her form sticking close to his own, as she glanced wearily and fearfully at the large group of mercenaries littering the area, and making it a point to put as much distance between herself and Zaeed.

Find the transport shuttle, Harry made a gesture for the squad of Eclipse to break off before taking himself, the acquired target, and Zaeed towards the ship.

Harry had only just began leading Oriana into the transport when the hanger doors opened, and three gunships entering, each having a symbol of a black diamond shaped hexagon encased by a pair of gold brackets. All had their mass accelerator weapons online and trained on them. Before a fight could break out, the elevator in front of them opened up, revealing a single woman leading a group of twenty heavily armored, as well as armed, shock troopers towards his position.

Obviously the Eclipse didn't do as proficient job as he had thought.

The woman in question had pale porcelain skin, shoulder length black hair, ice blue eyes, slender nose, and full lips. Her figure, encased by nothing but a leather white suit, did nothing to hide her voluptuous figure, and if Harry was a lesser man, or not even on assignment, he probably would have been struck speechless by her sheer beauty alone.

As it were however, he knew who she was. Sixteen years from the memory he had of her from his employer, he could easily see the young girl who had pulled a gun out on her father in the middle of dinner before shooting him standing right in front of him.

"Ms. Lawson. I didn't expect for you to arrive here so quickly. I had actually hoped we would have been long gone before your rather untimely arrival."

She never faltered in her stride towards him, nor did she recognize what he said or respond to him until they were mere meters from each other.

"I trust since you know who I am, than you must know what I came for."

Her eyes which were as cold as the frozen wasteland of Norvina softened only for a brief second as she made eye contact with Oriana before returning to his own, hardening once more.

Harry merely nodded his head once in response, discreetly giving a signal to the Eclipse Heavies to arm themselves.

"Then let's make this easy shall we? Give Oriana to me, and you all walk out and get to report to my father about his failure yet again to reclaim his precious dynasty."

The woman's tone, which had been slightly cultured with her rather noticeable accent, had clipped and turned short by the end of her sentence, leaving no doubt that this woman truly did have not only the will, but the metaphorical balls to have a shoot out with her father with a baby in hand while in a dress and high heels.

If only they weren't on opposite sides of the playing field…

"Or," Harry interjected. "We take the girl, you walk away now, and nobody has to get hurt. You don't know me Ms. Lawson, which puts you at a very distinct disadvantage. Attempt to push beyond this fine line that separates us, and the consequences will be dire, I can assure you."

She didn't reply to his alternate solution, eyes already scanning the group of mercenaries surrounding her, no doubt trying to assess weaknesses and possible exploits.

Her eyes stopped momentarily on Massani, appraising him slightly as a threat, before her eyes again settled on his own.

"Not an option. I'm sure you can understand after all the effort I put in ensuring that my father would never be able to locate Oriana."

Her eyes narrowed.

"Which brings me to my current question of how he was able to find her? I made sure to keep all ends regarding her family and location tied and kept secret. Only the Illusive Man knows of her exact location, in addition to the protection units that he put in place."

It was here that Harry gave a bit of a smirk, certain that this would no doubt tip the scales in his favor.

"Niket actually."

Miranda looked shocked at the identity of her betrayer, and that shock turned to anger as she growled, "No, Niket wouldn't do that! He knows how my father is!"

"And that is exactly why it makes it all the more painful over the fact that he gave us the location to your sister's whereabouts. He couldn't tell your father directly, your spy programs, and yes, your father knows they're there; he just leaves them to indulge you. So he contacts your father through a few secure channels that even Cerberus couldn't break, and your father then hired me."

He watched as Miranda looked conflicted with the information, trying to come up with any number of scenarios in which Niket, her longtime childhood friend would never give up the location of her sister.

Harry decided to break that train of thought permanently by opening a comm. channel, bringing up Niket's secure line that he had provided the man in the event that he needed more information on the target.

"Niket? Do you read, over?"

The hanger was silent and thick with tension as Miranda waited patiently, and somewhat anxiously for the voice of whom she had considered a friend, but slowly starting to believe otherwise, answer.

Her wait was short.

"Potter? Is this you? Why are you calling? Did you find Oriana yet? Is she on the transport?"

Harry felt a small wave of pity run through him at the sight of Miranda's heartbroken expression. This feeling only grew heavier as he saw a few tears leak through her eyes and trail down her cheeks. Perhaps it was a bit cruel, but it would give her a target to go after once this was all said and done. It would actually allow her father to keep the credits meant to be transferred to the rat's account, and it would save him the trouble of actually having to kill him personally. It wasn't as if his employer was actually going to pay the man after all…

"Not yet, just verifying her location with you one last time before we move in."

"Uh, right then. Like is said, she should be at that volunteer program down in the lower wards of Nos Astra. If not there, then she'd more than likely be at her foster family's apartment complex. I'll send you the exact location if you need it."

Ignoring Miranda's expression of hurt and betrayal, reminding him too much of his own expression those many years ago, Harry muttered, "That won't be necessary. Potter out."

Lowering his arm, his omni-tool's holographic interface disappearing for the moment, Harry looked calmly at Miranda, watching her struggle to regain her composure. To his right, Zaeed still had her head placed directly between his sights, and Oriana was looking at her with an expression akin to wonder and confusion. Again, he was mildly impressed with the girl's resilience.

Allowing a small amount of sympathy to breach his hardened resolve, Harry's facial expression softened as he gave the Cerberus Officer a genuine look of sorrow.

'_For what it's worth Operative Lawson, I am sorry.'_

His features hardened in a second, just as Miranda looked at him, anger, betrayal, and hatred burning within her ice blue eyes.

He twitched his right index finger.

Both Heavies fired, their missiles colliding with the lead gunship, knocking its starboard thruster out, sending it tumbling to the right, crashing harshly with the gunship on its left side, leaving them both to erupt a large explosion of fire and scrap metal. At the same time, Zaeed fired, his round crashing into Miranda's kinetic barrier, her shields flashing around her briefly registering that the shot and hit.

Almost instantly, the entire hold was alight with weapon fire, Miranda and her commandos taking defensive positions behind various crates littered across the floor while their last remaining gunship gave them covering fire, activating their kinetic barriers, rendering the missiles launched at it from the Eclipse Heavies temporarily ineffective. The rest of his ground forces took up cover of their own, returning fire while a few techs sent out combat drones.

Harry himself pushed Oriana inside their shuttle, gesturing for Zaeed to follow him, whom had taken a position at the bottom ramp of the ship after his first shot had failed, a Razor VII in hand, drilling several slugs into the heads of various Cerberus operatives who had been a bit careless in leaving themselves exposed.

"Zaeed, get your wrinkly arse in the ship! We are leaving!"

As Zaeed stood to follow his order, a blast of biotic energy struck him, depleting his shields heavily. He turned around, sniper rifle already collapsed and returned to his back, a pistol in hand aiming for the individual who took a shoot at his back, only to see a missile speeding directly towards him.

He swore before raising his arms to his face in a means to protect himself, already judging that his surprise at the unexpected attack had already cost him the few precious seconds he needed to get himself to dodge.

Harry, also surprised by such a brutal tactic threw a hastily conjured shield charm in front of the aged mercenary, the missile colliding with it and exploding on impact. The shield had enough power to block the brunt of the attack, but the shockwave from such a close range still bypassed, sending Zaeed flying back, the skin of his arms severally burnt from the heat.

To the man's credit, he didn't react to the pain, merely gave a grunt of acknowledgement at the searing and blistering skin before he slipped some medi-gel on, sealing the air out of the wound and covering it was a protective salve.

Pushing Oriana inside the ship, he ducked as a mass accelerator round speed right by his head, landing on his hands and stomach before pushing himself up vertically, M-4 in one hand before releasing a barrage of heavily modded rounds at the Cerberus agent whom and snuck behind him, watching as the rounds tore through the man's shields, a startled scream escaping the man's lips before they impacted his armor, forcing him to back out of the ship for cover.

He never got the chance as Zaeed ran a combat knife through the small open space of the man's neck between his armor and helmet, digging into the man's soft tissue before brutally tearing the blade out, blood spilling from the open wound like a river, spraying the wall with a sharp line of red in the process.

Nodding towards him in silent thanks, Harry pushed Oriana down onto the nearest seat, strapping her in as securely as possible before gesturing for Zaeed to take the seat adjacent from her.

He was about to do so without a word of complaint before he was surrounded by a dark bluish glow of energy.

He swore as he was pulled out of the transport by biotic energy, flung across the room at a pair of black heel shoes. He didn't get a chance to look up, or even draw a weapon before he was thrown into the air again, before slamming heavily onto the ground, clenching his teeth to keep the cry of pain that would have otherwise escaped his lips.

He felt himself rise in the air again, and glared angrily at the Miranda, who had an equally, if not more so, angrier expression.

Reaching for his sidearm, Zaeed was able to whip it out and get a single shot off, watching as it collide with her kinetic barrier before she gave a swift kick, knocking it from his hand before delivering a similar strike towards his chin.

The seasoned veteran mercenary grabbed the foot before it collide, and gave it a sharp tug, pulling Miranda off her last remaining foot and unto her back before Zaeed, showing that his muscles weren't just for show, lifted her in the air, spinning in a circle several times before releasing her, sending her tumbling across the room.

As she landed, he reached for his belt of grenades, pulling out his own original incendiary grenades, before tossing one at her quickly, but clumsily, rising form.

He let a grim expression cross his face as soon as it exploded at her position, fully expecting to hear high-pitched feminine screams, but heard nothing but silence.

It unnerved and worried him.

Pulling out his assault rifle, he was only able to take a single step before he felt something slam into his chest, and gave a strangled cry as he landed harshly on his back, noting the woman walking out of the flames, biotic energy flaring around, eyes dark with emotion, and looked like an avenging angel in every sense.

He raised his assault rifle, and gave a strangled curse as she raised an enclosed fist, dark energy circulating through his weapon before it exploded in his hands, shrapnel breaking through his ceramic armor, several impeding themselves into the skin of his face before he felt a strong grip encircle around his neck, and raise him into the air.

Slipping his combat knife into his hand, just as Zaeed was about to strike the bitch through her ribs and into her black heart, something blurred by his vision, tackling the woman and causing him to fall flat on his ass.

Still clutching his knife in hand, Zaeed turned his gaze and saw Harry and Miranda in a wrestling match of sorts, each one trying to get the advantage over the other.

Harry had taken the woman by surprise with his tackle, and hand managed to hold one of her arms down while struggling to pry her other hand from the collar of his armor, which she had grabbed in an attempt to throw him off of her.

He swore as he felt her slip under his defenses, planting her feet on his stomach before kicking him off of her, jumping to her feet, Harry doing likewise, raising his arm just in time to block an overhead strike from his newest adversary.

He gave a grunt as he felt her grab his arm and pulled him towards her, raising her leg and striking him in the stomach, sliding her leg in-between his own and flipping him harshly on his back. Slightly dazed, Harry narrowly avoided the heeled boot crashing down where his head had been laying seconds ago, scrambling to his feet, holding himself in a defensive stance, waiting for the woman's next move.

He was surprised as she pulled out her pistol once more and fired, an idiotic tactic at such close range. Missing her initial shot, Harry had moved in closer to her grabbing her wrist which wielded the weapon before giving it a twist, forcing her to let go.

What he didn't expect was the elbow to the chin, forearm strike to his throat, followed by as solid right to his face, causing him to spin slightly, as she bent down and picked up her gun, doing a leg sweep in the process and forcing him down onto the ground once more.

Groaning, Harry watched as Miranda, not taking her eyes off of him, raised her leg up and gave a sharp kick backwards, striking Zaeed in the chin and sending him tumbling backwards onto the floor, whom had tried sneaking up on her, his knife still in hand before her free hand glowed with dark energy, casting a similar glow over his own body.

As she clenched her hand into a fist, Harry gritted his teeth as he felt his armor start to crumple and shred, bits and pieces puncturing his skin before he felt an additional force propel him forwards, crashing headlong into Zaeed, who had been attempting to stand and continue the fight.

Skidding across the hanger floor, both stopped short as they collided roughly with a crate, sending it onto its side, breaking it open in the process and spilling its contents.

Harry was barely able to get a good look at the objects in question before he grabbed Zaeed, arm over his shoulder as he ran, or rather stumbled as there were still black spots in his vision just as he heard several rounds of a SMG fire, striking the floor where he had just been lying.

And where he and his old friend were lying was now a knee deep pile of serviceable grenades.

Harry again felt the ground leave his feet as the intense heat and shockwave from the blast sent him and the former Blue Suns founder into the air, crashing into another crate, this time shattering right through before landing haphazardly on the ground.

Waiting for the spots to clear out of his vision, Harry felt his own dark energy swirl around him in a vortex before jumping to his feet, giving a war cry as he sent a wave of biotic energy from his arm and into the ground, heading directly for Miranda and a small group of Cerberus commandos following after her.

She stopped immediately, bending down to her knees as a biotic barrier instantly covered her, though he saw her knees buckle slightly from the sheer ferocity of the attack, let alone the power that he had put behind it.

The commandos however, had gone flying in various directions, crying out in pain as most received various injuries from internal bleeding to broken bones.

And he didn't stop there.

Still glowing in dark energy, he gave a roar as he sent a blast of pure eezoo, ripping the floor apart and destroying everything in its path.

Miranda remained still kneeling, her barrier solidifying even further, its dark bluish tint turning purple, nearly black, before the tremendous force of energy Harry had sent collided with her. Her barrier held up for twenty seconds before it fell, sending her reeling back, crashing into several cargo crates before hitting the wall on the far side of the hanger, nearly breaking right through, instead leaving a heavy indentation before slumping to the ground, motionless.

Panting heavily, and feeling sweat breaking down his forehead and neck, Harry shakily rose to his knees before moving forward, first at a stumbling walk, then a run.

Raising one hand, he used an levitating charm, lifting the woman slightly in the air, and watched as she rose from the ground boneless, before raising his other hand, dark energy swirling in a chaotic and slightly uncontrolled mass before he gave a battle cry, swinging his fist forward, releasing a biotic shockwave full force and at close range at the Cerberus Loyalist.

The attack caused an intense shockwave, which shoot Miranda's prone form through the wall, easily tearing through the metal, flying out into the main lobby of the spaceport, crashing through several deactivated glass displays, weapon detectors, before landing, creating a five inch deep trench within the ground, a trail of blood mixing with the strangled metal and electrical wiring underneath.

Falling to his knees briefly, Harry raised a shivering hand to his forehead, wiping the cold sweat that had broken out, before feeling something drip down his nose and hit his lips.

Wiping it away quickly and finding it to be blood, Harry rose to his feet before backtracking to the transport, finding Zaeed struggling to stand up on his own power, Harry grunted with effort as he helped onto his feet.

"Those years starting to catch up to you old friend?"

Zaeed merely grunted in response, tossing another of his grenades into the air, striking a group of commandos hiding behind a few crates, setting them aflame.

"Jus' shut up and get to the goddamn ship. I need a fuckin' smoke, the shit you put me through."

Acknowledging his complaint with a shrug of his shoulders, Harry helped Zaeed hobble towards the transport, taking care of any Eclipse or Cerberus Commando that got in his way. At this point, the whole place and its current inhabitants were just dead weight to him.

Walking inside the ramp, and helping Zaeed into his seat, Harry only paused to look at Oriana, whom had remained in the confines of the ship, eyes darting wildly between him and Zaeed and their heavily disheveled forms. She made small noises, close to whimpers but not quite, whenever a particularly loud explosion rocked the hanger, or when one of the opposing forces screamed out in pain.

Everyone had their limits he supposed…

Reaching the pilot seat, Harry gave a frustrated growl as the man was slumped over, blood leaking from the back of his helmet. The round that he had dodged earlier had apparently found a new target. Grabbing the body with his biotics flaring, he threw the pilot's limp corpse to the side, jumping into his seat before initiating take off procedures.

It was only after he had managed to get them out of the hanger admist the destruction going on around them did Harry allow himself to relax slightly as he, Zaeed, and Oriana made it out of the hanger turned battlefield, ignoring the fly of mass accelerator rounds that bounced off harmlessly against the hull.

It may not have been as quiet and quick as he usually preferred, but he still accomplished his mission objective. He could rest for the moment.

He berated himself seconds later for becoming so lax.

Dropping from the ceiling rafters of the transport, Miranda landed with catlike grace between Oriana and Zaeed, causing the girl to shriek in surprise, and Zaeed to curse in frustration.

Bloody, Cerberus issued cat suit in ruins, revealing the light ceramic plates underneath, most trashed beyond recognition, Miranda gave Zaeed a swift but solid kick to the head, dazing him before grabbing her pistol from her waist, and bashing it into his skull, knocking him out cold.

Not even hesitating, she aimed at Harry, who was still piloting the ship, and fired.

The rounds missed him, but it was only seconds after the controls started to become nonresponsive that he realized that the woman wasn't aiming for him to begin with.

Feeling the ship tilt, Harry was about to try and regain control when he saw Miranda attempting to get Oriana out of her seat, struggling with the harness keeping her strapped in, while at the same time trying to get the poor girl to relax.

And he simply couldn't allow that to happen, now could he?

Using _Accio_, Harry summoned the woman towards him, causing her to crash right into the controls next to him and her to land haphazardly in the copilot seat.

He didn't have time to celebrate his victory before Miranda lashed out with her foot, hitting him right in the head, causing his scouter to shatter before he retaliated with a _Bombarda_, knocking her backwards and into the side of the ship, once more sending it off course.

Proximity alerts going off, Harry once more attempted to gain control of the ship, ignoring the VI's annoying and clinical call of various system failures.

_'As if I didn't already know!'_

His frustration only grew as Oriana began to scream from the transports soon downward spinning after it collided with something, a fire soon breaking out within the auxiliary tanks.

Harry swore as the controls blow underneath his finger tips, Oriana's screams reaching a crescendo as her older sister's biotics flared as she recovered from his last attack, slamming into his side as she attempted to take the controls, Zaeed still knocked unconscious. He gritted his teeth as the fire started to break out more heavily, the smoke blinding him slightly, alarms still sounding within the confines of the transport ship as it started to lose altitude, Miranda still trying to reach the controls amidst a few strikes they traded.

Tired with the progress he was making, as well as Miranda's constant interference, he, with a wave his hand, he sent a Banishing Curse at her, sending her reeling to the right, tilting the direction the ship was facing while giving him some breathing space.

It was a move he soon regretted as he saw the Nos Astra markets coming closer to his line of sight, which was not a good thing.

Trying to pull out of the dive, Harry swore as the controls merely refused to cooperate, and continued to nosedive to the streets below. It did not help his case when Miranda again jumped him, sending a biotic fueled fist to his face, nearly breaking his jaw in the process.

By the time he was able to get her off of him once more, this time with a biotic fueled punch of his own, he found himself and the rest of the occupants of the gunship only a mere nine yards from the ground.

He swore.

Miranda braced herself.

Oriana covered her eyes and screamed once more.

Then there was nothing but pain and fire.

His eyes were heavy, and his head was pounding. Not to mention the constant buzz in his ears, and the annoying wet and sticky liquid that seemed to coat the left side of his face. And the slightly metallic taste in his mouth wasn't helping matters.

As far as he could tell, something heavy and hot was on top of him, his chest specifically, and it was getting harder for him to breath. He couldn't move either of his legs without feeling an intense amount of pain, and he couldn't even feel his left arm at the moment. The only reassurance he had was that it was still attached to his body, which was more then he could ask for at the present moment.

Opening his eyes, he shut at the bright flames that crossed his vision, also noting with his brief glance the charred remains of what was undoubtedly unsuspecting shoppers who had no idea they're lives were about to end only a few short minutes ago.

He knew that because he could still hear the screaming of not only the dying and injured, but also those lucky enough to escape the crash, chattering and crying out hysterically.

Reaching for the ear piece he had in his scouter, which was nothing but scrap at the present moment, he opened a comm. channel, his voice ragged and raspy from the smoke he was inhaling.

"Hermione? Damnit…Hermione, answer me damnit!"

"-arry? Harry, are you there? What's going on? There's a live feed of the transport crashing into the market street area!"

As if the headache he had couldn't have gotten worse! "Fuck! Hermione, the transfer went to hell! Crazy Cerberus bitch fucking stowaway on the bloody transport and sabotaged the controls! We crashed here on Nos Astra and I need an evac! I've lost visual on both the target and Zaeed! Tap into the security feeds and intercept all calls to the local authorities! See if there are any visuals, and get me another vehicle for pickup, and have a med team on standby!"

"Understood."

Crawling out of the rubble around him, and ripping the useless piece of scrap metal that was once a scouter off his ear, and casting a few pain numbing charms and giving himself a shot of adrenaline, Harry shakily stood to his feet before casting his eyes around, looking for Oriana.

Lucky enough for him, considering how shitty it had been the past thirty minutes or so, he found her unharmed save for a nasty cut on her forehead. Her clothes and skin had some ash on them, and her hair looked frazzled and singed, but otherwise, she looked fine.

Zaeed he was grateful to see was not that far from here, still unconscious.

He winced in sympathy as the man's right arm was bent in a very odd angle, as well as the very large piece of shrapnel protruding from his left leg.

_That leaves only…_

A cold, searing anger filled his veins as his eyes scanned the area, trying to find the woman who in any other situation he would have admired for her tenacity and will.

Now he just wanted to see her dead.

Finding a familiar mash of white and black to his right, Harry's eyes narrowed into slits as he found Miranda Lawson, still alive, patches of her uniform torn and bloody, as well as heavily burned, crawl towards a heavy pistol, a Head Cannon to be more précised.

Even injured as she was, she was still ready and willing to continue the fight. He would have to change that, and quickly.

Reaching the woman, Harry kicked the Head Cannon out of her reach before slamming his foot down on her temple, hoping to knock her out. She anticipated the move however, grabbing his armored foot and giving it a sharp twist, forcing a cry of pain to escape his lips as he toppled over to the side, Miranda body already straddling his as her hands glowing in a dark blackish blue signaling her biotics before they wrapped around his neck, attempting to choke the life out of him.

Unable to break her grip and unfocused by the pain his right foot was in, grabbed her by the collar of her uniform, surprising her for a second before pulling her down, forcing her forehead to collide with his own, dazing them both but serving the purpose of getting her to loosen her grip.

Pressing his already slim advantage, Harry slammed a right hook into her face, knocking her backwards and onto the ground, an audible crack resounding as his fist connect with her cheek.

Scrambling to his feet, he straddled her this time, raining blow after blow on her body, her arms raised above her in a feeble attempt to protect herself. It more than likely didn't do her any good seeing as he was wearing solid armor and she was wearing what honestly looked like plain leather. Stylish and perhaps effective in a skirmish where her flexibility was a must, but useless in all out brawl in terms of protection.

Much like now.

His gloved hands and armored forearms were already covered in Miranda's blood, and through her feeble guard, had already caused several deep cuts to sprout around her attractive face.

Stopping his fists short, he reached under her arms, grabbing her collar once more before jerking her forward, slamming her head back into the ground, causing a loud sickening crack to sound off once her head made contact, no doubt giving her a concussion at the very least.

Striking out with his fist once more, this time on her temple, he stood up reaching over for his M-4 Shuriken, attached to his waist, gritting his teeth as he felt a powerful kick strike him in the stomach, causing him to stumble back before Miranda threw herself at him, sending him tumbling to the ground, his Shuriken flying out of his hands.

He bit back a moan of pain as Miranda grabbed the inside collar of his armor, swinging her fist against his cheek, bruising the bone with the first strike, and breaking it with the second. Before a third could collide, Harry jerked his head to the side, her fist striking the steel ground beneath them, shattering it and leaving a small impact crater.

Grabbing her fist, which he noticed was shrouded with dark energy; Harry gave a low growl as he struggled to hold her fist back, his cheek burning with pain, his pain numbing charms weakening, reminding him rather irritably of his busted legs and his still numb, if not still usable arm.

Placing both of his feet on her stomach, and surrounding in dark energy himself, he gave a howl of pain as he kicked Miranda off of him, sending her tumbling arse over kettle before pushing his upper body up, sending a nonverbal Reducto towards her quickly recovering form.

He watched as it slammed into her chest, sending her flying, tearing right through her shields and jumpsuit, leaving a deep bleeding wound in her abdomen before she crushed through a market vendor stall, a trail of blood marking her flight.

Wincing at the pain of standing, Harry summoned his pistol back to his hand, hobbling towards Miranda, taking note of approaching sirens that Hermione had warned him that were coming, amidst her yelling of how reckless he was and how lucky he was that he hadn't been killed, before stopping short, Miranda struggling to stand up, hands clasped on her stomach, blood pouring rather liberally from the wound.

"Well congratulations are in order Ms. Lawson. You are the first person to royally fuck up my perfect record. Years of carefully planning, ingenuity, sheer brilliance, all thrown to the fucking four winds!"

Ejecting the spent thermal clip in his gun, Harry swept her off her feet as she attempted to stand, causing her to fall the ground hard before he unceremoniously kicked her in the ribs, causing a chocked gasp of pain to escape her lips before he forced her on her back.

Pressing his foot on her hand still covering her wound, he bent down, making sure to dig his foot in, causing her to clench her teeth from the pain of him aggravating her wound and crushing her fingers. Throwing his other leg over her still free arm, and making sure it was trapped firmly by his shin, he placed in a new clip, looking Miranda right in the eyes as he did so.

"I have to say, that if I weren't so rightly pissed off right now, I'd be impressed. Hell, if we meet anywhere else, I might have asked you to dinner! But now? I'll be the most fucking happiest bastard in the entire galaxy once I put a fucking bullet through your head!"

It was here as he leveled his M-4 in between her eyes that he saw how cloudy they were, the misty quality that they held that he was more than certain wasn't there a few minutes ago.

_Bloody hell…is she…?_

A chocked sob escaped her lips before she bit her tongue, glaring at him amidst the tears pooling from her once icy blue, now turning light shade of grey.

_Shit…she is._

"Are you…crying?"

She refused to answer him, staring instead to the side, towards the unconscious body of her sister.

Harry himself couldn't believe this was happening. He was certain, positive that the woman would have stared down the barrel of his gun, defiant and strong until the very end. But this…he had gotten better at dealing with crying women sure, but this was just too much.

"Take me instead."

Harry looked at her, startled.

"What?"

She swallowed thickly, tears still falling from her eyes as her voice chocked out, "Take. Me. Instead."

Harry grip on his pistol didn't loosen, but it started to shake, his emotions chaotic within the confines of his mind.

Again, he asked rather dumbly, "What?"

Annoyance shined through her eyes; showing that strength and determination that he had admired secretly throughout their intense battle before it changed back to defeat. A sense of hopelessness and despair weighed down on her shoulders as she whispered out, "My father…he wants Oriana for her DNA. That's it. As soon as he gets what he wants, he'll kill her. I can't…"

She paused, taking a deep breath and looked at him pleadingly, _begging_ him to understand.

"Please, if you have any mercy then leave my sister alone. Tell my father that she died in the crash or that one of the Eclipse shot and killed her. Take me instead. We share the same DNA so he gets what he wants and my sister stays safe. Just…please…"

He shouldn't be considering this. He shouldn't be considering any other options aside from the one given by his employer. He shouldn't care if this woman loved her sister to the point of sacrificing her life for hers, he shouldn't.

He looked at her eyes one last time, finding the resolve, the sadness, but least of all the hope and love that she held for that young woman lying not a few meters away from them.

_MOTHERFUCKER!_

Pressing the M-4 Shuriken between her eyes, Harry's shoulders slumped slightly, his eyes showing a sense of self-loathing and sadness before they hardened instantly, his posture righting itself.

"As touching as that is, I can't take that offer."

Aiming the gun at the black charred body at their side, he fired five consecutive shots at it, the sound of the bullets hitting its flesh breaking the silence like thunder throughout the abandoned plaza.

He cast his eyes towards hers and at her surprised, if not inquisitive look, said, "Your sister died in the crash and resulting fire. In your grief, you attacked me and while you put up a valiant effort, were overcome due to injuries. You were shot and killed by five consecutive rounds from a modded M-4 Shuriken, three in the torso, one in the abdomen, and the final one in the head. This is what I am going to tell your father. You are going to tell your superior that your sister and her kidnappers died during the firefight and attempted escape from the spaceport. You are the only survivor. Is that clear?"

She merely nodded her head, undoubtedly shell-shocked by what she just heard. She looked him in the eyes, mesmerized slightly before she regained her awareness as the mercenary broke the gaze, limping towards the end of the skywalk, a gunship slowly lowering from the skies, sirens from the local law enforcement now roaring loudly over the thrusters of the Mantis as it inched closer to the ground. Stopping momentarily, Harry gave a grunt of effort as he lifted the still unconscious Zaeed over his shoulder before making his way towards the gunship, taking note of the earthborn Russian as he stared in awe at the destruction around him.

Throwing himself inside and strapping Zaeed as best he could in the seat adjacent from him, Harry muttered out, "Hermione, get us the hell out of here."

Nodding her head, she activated the controls before pulling the ship up, heading for the atmosphere and the Mass Relay that would take them out of the system.

Looking down at the slowly disappearing walkway, Harry saw Miranda cradling her younger sister's head in her lap. He imagined he could almost see the love and happiness in her eyes before the gunship broke through the clouds, the cargo doors sealing themselves before they broke into deep space.

Leaning back and wincing at the pain that shot through him at the injuries, Harry closed his eyes, cursing his bloody conscious to hell and back.

"You did the right thing Harry."

He glanced at Hermione's holographic image before turning his head away and looking into the deep vastness of space.

"I know. And that's the problem."

* * *

Two Weeks Later; Flux, Upper Wards: Serpent Nebula, Citadel…

* * *

Harry stood in front of his employer, eyes never wavering from the twin icebergs staring back at him. Hands folded underneath his chin and graying beard, his fingers still adorned heavily with rings speaking of his family's vast lineage, dating back probably farther than the Spanish Inquisition, maybe further.

"So these reports are accurate then? Both my daughters are dead?"

Nodding his head, Harry replied stiffly, "Yes sir. Your youngest was accidental. Your eldest had gotten aboard as we were making our escape and unleashed her biotics, formidable as they were, and damaged the controls irreversibly. The shuttle veered off course until it crashed onto the streets of Nos Astra. Oriana did not survive the initial crash, and if she did, the subsequent explosion of the ship's mass effect core left no hope of the recovery of a body."

He nodded his head, still staring rather blankly at Harry, and he took it as a silent cue to continue.

"Following that, your eldest, whom had survived the landing and explosion by sheer luck no doubt, attacked me. Obviously she had been severely injured by the crash, and it took me little to no effort to overpower her. I ended it with five consecutive shots to the chest and head."

Another pause was made before the man spoke once more.

"And you are certain her body cannot be recovered?"

Harry gave nothing away at the man's penetrating and yet blank stare.

"No sir. The body itself is unidentifiable aside from the entry wounds I caused to kill her. The explosion from the gunship ensured that."

He didn't say anything for awhile, though the white knuckles on his hand from his tightening grip spoke volumes of the anger that was coursing through his veins like a hot boiling river of lava.

"Then it seems that I may have to start from scratch once more. Disappointing, they were both exceptionally remarkable, and I was certain they're DNA could have proved invaluable to creating the perfect dynasty."

Harry said nothing in response, already having looked at the man's surface thoughts, and pulled out almost immediately. There was nothing but a blind rage and lust for blood of a woman, whom he believed now to be dead.

He hoped that for her sake, she'd be smart enough to stay out of his way and not reveal herself anytime soon.

"As agreed, I have no more use for your services Mr. Potter. I have already forwarded all the relevant information regarding your contact address as well as your usual fee with my own recommendation to a few associates within the Alliance, and a few other more interested parties. This…dismal failure will remain between us, have no fear of that."

On that note, Harry wasn't very surprised. The man did not take failure easily or gracefully. The fact that one of his guards was missing attested to that. This incident had also made it to the extranet, and all possible traces to them both, while wiped, still left a sense of paranoia on the man.

He watched as the man, Albert Lawson, made his way out of the club without another word, his lone security guard falling behind him.

Once the man was out of sight, Harry slumped in his chair, eyes closed and a relieved grin spreading across his lips before he pulled the Predator he had in hand underneath the table back to his belt.

Honestly, he wasn't sure how that was going to play out, and he thought that being extra cautious was better than being a riddled with mass accelerator rounds.

Holstering his weapon, Harry waved over one of the waitresses, Jenna he believed, and ordered a drink before leaning back slightly, head staring up towards the ceiling.

He closed his eyes and only opened them when Jenna returned with his drink, his customary Jack Daniels before he popped the bottle open and took a long drink, placing the bottle on the coaster beside him before looking at the large group of dancers, illuminated by the flashing lights of club, his mind for the first time in a long time, thinking back on his life, and wondering, however briefly, how differently he could have done things.

Not for the first time in his long life, and most certainly not the last time either, he felt a twinge of regret speak to his soul. And, just like so many other times he had allowed these thoughts to drift to the forefront of his mind, did he crush them down, sending them to the very back of his mind, where he would have the feeble hope that they would not revisit or haunt him again.

It was a false hope, and he knew it.

He took another drink of his bottle before gesturing for another one.

* * *

Potter's Residence: Presidium, Citadel…

* * *

Collapsing on his couch, Harry gave a small groan as he sunk into the cushions, eyes already heavily hazed from all the alcohol he consumed and the mental exhaustion that had started to finally make itself known after keeping it in check for two long agonizing weeks.

The two weeks of physical recovery wasn't what was bothering him. He dealt with longer and often more painful recovery sessions. No, what bothered him was the fact that he had failed his objective. How he willingly and consciously failed his objective. Such acts of kindness, mercy, compassion…these were acts he hadn't truly done or felt since…

He slammed his fist down, putting enough force to crack the wooden table at his side, a rarity in its own right, and clenched his teeth as the pain of the splintered wood impeding inside his skin stopped those thoughts from going any further.

His time as a young naïve boy was over! He had come this far in life beating back those instinctive feelings of heroism, and he wasn't about to go and revert back to the witless boy wonder that he was those two long centuries ago.

His thoughts hazy and angry, filled with images of an aged old man with twinkling blue eyes and a skinny deformed humanoid shaped individual, no nostrils par a pair of slits and dark menacing red eyes, were broken by the chime of his private terminal, in which only a handful of people had access too.

Getting up, he found it as a request for another job, and after opening the message, Harry raised an eyebrow at the name of the person who wished to hire his services next, though admittedly, he wasn't terribly surprised. He knew sooner or later he would be working with her again, loath he was to admit it. It wasn't that he didn't like her, he didn't think there was a single person in the entire galaxy that could, but he didn't like familiarity. Familiarity lead to attachment and attachment lead to an easy target on your back for them to shove a knife through, and in some cases, quite literally. He winced slightly at the memory of his former childhood friend doing just that, and the phantom pains that came along with it. He still had the damn scar there too…

Shrugging those feelings aside, Harry opened up a comm. channel, Hermione automatically ensuring it was on a secure line as requested per his newest employer, or knowing her as did, future active participant.

"This is Potter. Speak."

"…"

Harry frowned at the silence at the other end. This was uncharacteristic for her. Usually a witty comeback or flirtatious joke meet his ears whenever she was on the other line, but dead silence?

"This is Potter. Hello? Is anyone there? Hello?"

He waited for about thirty seconds and was about to order Hermione to trace the signal on the other line when a sound much like a sob broke the silence.

"H-Harry?"

Now he was concerned. She never cried over anything. Not even when she was badly injured during one of her escapades.

"They took him Harry! They took him and I don't know where or why! And there's blood, so much-!"

"Slow down a bit and take a deep breath. Who are you talking about, and who did they take?"

"I don't know! He said he stole something dangerous, something that could get the Alliance into deep trouble! I thought he was just kidding or overreacting, but oh god! Harry please, I need your help to find him! I can't trust any of my usual contacts; you're the only one I can turn too! Please you have to help! I need you!"

Her voice was hysterical by this point, and Harry knew that he wouldn't be able to say no to her, and that this wasn't some sort of practical joke of hers.

Her next words cemented his decision.

"Harry, Keiji is gone."

* * *

**/-/Author Note/-/**

**CursedAndTorn once more! So did anybody see that coming? Yes? No? Hopefully not, it took me a while to write this one out, if it wasn't that obvious already. **

**Constant rewrites, lost saves, deleted pages, I got this thing to eight-six pages or so and found the chapter still going nowhere, and reworked it, AGAIN! And my muse, my little Alice, she ran off on me! ALICE-CHAN!**

…**After that rather sporadic moment of insanity (stressful times we all live in after all), I like to say thank you to everyone who is still reading this story, and apologize for making everyone believe it was abandoned.**

**Anyway, anybody want to take a guess on who was on the line with Harry? You get one guess. XD**

**Also have a second HP and Mass Effect crossover written and posted. This one will feature a female Shepard though, who will be the polar opposite of the male Shepard in this story. Mainly that means she'll be mostly Renegade, Earthborn, and Ruthless. There! Your free spoiler! :D**

**Also, on an unrelated topic, I have a new question posted. I want to know if anyone else believes that it would be awesome if Joker could be made a squad mate, at least temporarily, by piloting one of those Atlas mechs, yes or no? Vote now!**

**For some odd reason, I'm rather chipper today…ah well. Remember to click the button below that says review, and leave me one! Criticism is always welcome, as stated many times before, as I do find it useful.**


End file.
